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Hppletons’ 
Zi:own an& Country 
Xtbrarg 

No. 243 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE 






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JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE 


A ROMANCE OF 
THE DAYS OF FRANCIS I 


BY 

R. D. CHETWODE 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1898 



THE. LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

MAY 11 1903- 


Copyright Entry 



^ / 6 c 1/ 


COPY B. 


Copyright, 1897, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


All rights reserved. 


TO 

JOHN GARRARD 

I INSCRIBE 


THIS STORY 




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74 


^AMA 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — MJ;re Tapin i 

II. — The little lady g 

III. — In strange company 15 

IV. — The Thousand Devils 24 

V. — Put to the test 32 

VI. — What the landslip did for me . . .42 

VII. — The captain’s vengeance begins. . . 49 

VIII. — The captain’s vengeance completed . . 58 

IX. — My bride 71 

X. — The journey — first stage — the pine wood 83 
XI. — Second stage — the shepherd ... 93 

XII. — Last stage — the cavalier .... loi 

XIII. — Father Felix no 

XIV. — A TAVERN BRAWL Il8 

XV. — At the sign of the Dog and Porridge Pot 13 i 

XVI. — My Lord Abbot ...... 140 

XVII. — The end of Jacques Tapin .... 148 

XVIII. — In the field 159 

XIX. — The siege 168 

XX. — The spy 176 

XXI.— IsPARi 186 

XXII. — I interfere with my Lord Chamberlain . 197 

XXIII. — A rebuke and a reconciliation . . . 209 

vii 


Vlll 


JOHN OF STRATllBOURNE, 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIV. — Plot and counterplot 217 

XXV. — On guard. 226 

XXVI. — The assassin of the tower . . . 234 

XXVII. — Foul treason 243 

XXVIII. — A MIDNIGHT adventure 252 

XXIX. — The fight on the stairs .... 261 

XXX. — Lorenzo of Milan 270 

XXXI. — “My husband” . • 277 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNR 


CHAPTER 1 . 
m£:re tapin. 

M^:re Tapin turned uneasily upon her bed of 
leaves, as, with shaking fingers, I tried to wipe the 
death damps from her brow. My hand shook be- 
cause I was frightened. I had seen scarce eleven 
years, and I was alone with the dying woman. 
Jacques, her husband, had departed in the early 
morning to fetch the priest; but as the hours 
passed on and he did not return, we knew well 
what had happened. He had halted at the village 
wine-shop and would remain there until his pockets 
were empty. Neighbours we had none. Jacques, * 
when sober, was a charcoal burner, and our hut of 
boughs and clay stood far within one of the vast 
forests so plentiful in the fair land of France. For 
time, it was the winter of the year 1520 — the year 
that saw the two gallant young kings, Harry of 
England and Francis of France, meet on the plains 
of Guisnes, on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. 
Little recked I then of this. I was a savage; 
ignorant, unkempt, untaught; the rude hut in the 
forest had been my home for so many years I knew 


I 


2 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


of no life beyond. And I was not all unhappy. 
If I had to work hard and fare harder still — my 
only reward a blow or a curse — at least my task- 
master was sometimes away, and Mere Tapin was 
always good to me. She was not my mother, that 
I knew well, neither was Jacques my father. But 
I was too dull and heavy to be curious; it never 
once occurred to me to wonder who I was, or how 
I came to be with them. Yet could I remember 
something of horsemen and of waving banners, 
something even of a tender woman’s face bending 
over me; but these came only in my dreams — 
they were visions, not realities. As I watched by 
Mere Tapin, my once fair skin stained and dark- 
ened with toil until I was swarthy almost as she, 
I knew nothing save that I was losing my only 
friend. 

There had been snow in the morning, and a thin 
film of ice had formed on every pool; but with 
dusk the wind rose and now moaned fitfully through 
the trees, mingled ever and again with the far-off 
howling of the wolves. Usually I gave no heed to 
such sounds, they were part of my life; but this 
night I was weak and frightened, and, creeping a 
little closer to Mere Tapin, caught hold of her 
hand. 

Do not imagine, however, that I wished for 
Jacques; on the contrary, his absence was a great 
relief. I had not to slink away or to cower in a 
corner expecting every moment some cruel blow; 
perhaps to be kicked out into the darkness to find 
shelter where I could. Mere Tapin returned my 
grasp feebly, and we sat speaking no word until it 


MERE TAP IN. 


3 


grew dark without as within. I could no longer 
see her face; I could only listen to her troubled 
breathing. 

Presently she roused herself and said in a faint 
voice, “ They will not come to-night. Jacques has 
gone to the Cadran Bleu. Yet he promised me. 
May heaven have mercy upon my sinful soul!” 
She was silent for a space ; then, with more life than 
I thought within her, she went on : “ What I can 
do I will, it is not too late for that yet. I would 
have told the good father; maybe that is why 
Jacques will not bring him; I will confess all to the 
boy instead. Throw some wood upon the embers, 
Jean; the death-chill is creeping up fast, and I have 
much to say.” 

We kept always a fire of wood burning in the 
centre of the earthen floor, and as I did her bidding, 
and a bright blaze sprang up, it revealed her livid 
grey face, and her hollow eyes fixed full upon me. 
The old woman lifted her hand and pointed to the 
farthest corner of the hut. “Dig yonder, Jean; 
dig to your elbow’s length, then bring me what you 
find.” 

I obeyed without a word — I was not given to 
much speech — and turning up the earth with a 
pointed stick, I soon brought to light a small 
cracked earthen pot, its mouth stopped with a piece 
of cloth. I took it just as it was to the dying woman 
and her hands closed around it eagerly. 

“ I always meant you to have this some time, 
Jean, though the blessed saints only know whether 
it will bring any good to you. Bend your head 
close, closer still, and heed well what I have to say^ 


4 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


for my words must be few and brief. Jean, you 
know already you are no son of ours, but there is 
more than that — you are not of this land at all. 
You are one of the hated English, and if I guess 
the Englishman no harm, but when Jacques found 
aright, nobly born.” This ought to have startled 
me, but I was so ignorant I scarcely comprehended 
what it meant. “ Long ago, when this happened,” 
Mere Tapin went on, speaking with difficulty (it 
was as much as I could do to hear), “ I lived with 
Jacques in our own dear Picardy amongst our 
kinsfolk and friends. He was a good husband to 
me then; he never drank and he never beat me, 
until one day came the accursed English and burned 
our village and everyone was forced to fly. We 
took refuge in the woods, and after a time when 
the savage islanders were gone, Jacques and I 
ventured back. We wanted to see if they had left 
aught of our crops, to gather in what we could. 
There was nothing — nothing but the walls of what 
had once been our home, and we set to work to 
repair it. We had slept under a roof again for 
scarce three nights when, without the' slightest warn- 
ing, a party of the English came back. It was too 
late to fly; we could only abide their pleasure. 
But this time they spoke us fair, gave us money to 
pay for food, and when they departed they left 
behind a wounded man who was too much hurt to 
ride farther. They promised to reward us well if we 
would take good care of him until they came again. 
Two archers stayed with him, armed men who 
watched by turns night and day, and — strange 
sight at such a time — there was also a young child 


MtRE TAPIN. 


5 


whom the wounded man never suffered to leave 
him. One of the archers spoke our tongue and he 
told us it was his lord’s only son; the mother was 
dead, and he went with his father everywhere. 
That child was yourself, Jean. At first we meant 
the Englishman no harm, but when Jacques found 
that his belt was full of gold, he made up his mind 
to have it. It was but fair pay for what the Eng- 
lish had robbed us of. None of the neighbours 
had returned — we had no one to help — so I brewed 
a drink of herbs and mingled it with the archers’ 
wine. They slept sound after that, but to make all 
sure Jacques stabbed them to the heart and then 
crept in to their master. We had thought to find 
him asleep, but the pain of his wound kept him 
waking, and he fought hard. He was big, and, 
spite of his hurt, so strong, he got his two hands 
round Jacques’ throat, and would have strangled 
him. Another minute and it would have been too 
late, when I caught up the child and held my knife 
to it. The Englishman uttered a strange cry — 
sometimes I have heard it in the wood of late — 
then, loosing his hands, he called out, ‘ Swear by 
all you hold most holy to spare the boy and I will 
let go.’ I swore by the bones of St. Genevieve, an 
oath I have never broken yet, and at once he sank 
back and only muttered a prayer or two whilst 
Jacques finished him.” 

Sluggish and dull though I was, her tale had 
made some impression upon me at last, and in- 
stinctively I drew away from her. My father had 
given his life for mine; that at least I could under- 
stand. “ Ah, I knew you would not forgive,” she 


6 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


whimpered; “but remember, Jean, you promised 
this morning you would not leave me to die 
alone.” 

“ Go on,” I returned gruffly, “ I am not going to 
leave you. You know I always kept my word.” 

Clutching my hand, as if to hold me fast. Mere 
Tapin resumed. “ We buried them all in one pit, 
and, taking their horses, were many leagues away 
before dawn. We wandered about for months 
after that, till Jacques had spent all the money — 
'twas then he first took to drink — then at last we 
settled here. No one knew anything about us, and 
you passed for a child of our own. Jacques hated 
you always because you were of the accursed Eng- 
lish; but I was good to you as he would let me be, 
lest the spirit of the dead man should come back. 
When you set your teeth so stubbornly, refusing 
to cry out let Jacques beat you never so hard, you 
grew so like the man we had killed I was not able 
to forget. But I kept this for you without Jacques 
knowing. ’Tis a ring the Englishman wore on a 
string round his throat, and a letter he had been 
writing in the morning. Jacques was to have taken 
it to Calais the next day for payment of a piece of 
gold. Look within and see.” 

I pulled the cloth from out the mouth of the pot 
and found a sheet of paper covered with writing, 
and a small gold ring with a device of two letters 
within a heart. Besides the writing, the paper was 
blotted with dark stains which I knew well to be 
blood. The letter had no significance for me — I 
was ignorant of reading or writing — but the stains 
of my father’s life-blood did not appeal to me in 


tap in. 


7 

vain, and from that moment I held the relic 
sacred. 

“ Take care of the paper, Jean,” Mere Tap'n 
went on, her words coming slower and slower. 
“ Some day perhaps it may help to show who you 
are. I have done all I can for you now. Jacques 

does not know; mind, do not let him see, — see ” 

And her voice died away and all was still. 

But she was not dead. I could still hear her 
heavy breathing, and after a time she sank into a 
state of stupor which I took for sleep. 

I kept the fire going, afraid of being left in the 
dark, and as I watched it I went over again all that 
the woman had told me. Strange to say, although 
she acknowledged what an active part she had 
taken in my father’s murder, I felt little or no 
resentment against her. My hate was reserved for 
Jacques. I had abhorred him before, my heart 
was filled with thoughts of vengeance now; and 
taking out my knife, my one possession, I spent 
some time in softly sharpening it. Jacques was 
probably too drunk to return home that night; he 
would come in the early morning. While he was 
sleeping off his debauch I would stab him as he 
meant to stab my father. Remember, I was but a 
child, and all I knew of right or wrong had been 
taught me by this same Jacques. Had all fallen 
out as I expected I certainly think I should have 
done my best to kill the man; as it happened, he 
was reserved for another fate. 

Whilst thus occupied, I fell asleep, to be wak- 
ened by a savage kick which lamed me for a week. 
Jacques had returned at dawn as I anticipated; 


8 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


but the sharp morning air had not partially sobered 
him as usual; on the contrary, he was in one of his 
drunken furies. I knew well what to expect. One 
glance at the still form on the bed showed I had 
no protector left, and at once I tried to escape. 
The brute was too quick for me. He caught me 
by the hair and belaboured me with his cudgel 
until I could not stand. He desisted at length from 
sheer weariness; and bruised, and bleeding, and 
half-stunned, I tried to crawl out by the door. My 
retreat was expedited by another kick, my perse- 
cutor crying after me, “ Begone, you island brat, 
you English devil; never let me set eyes upon you 
again. Come you within a league of me and I will 
kill you as I killed the pig your father.” 

Here was confirmation, had I needed any, of 
Mere Tapin’s story. It was the rarest thing in the 
world for Jaques to talk in his cups, and never 
before had he whispered a word concerning my 
father. It was his wife’s death, I suppose, that had 
brought the past back. Happily I had already 
hidden my treasures — my sacred letter and the ring 
— safely amid my rags, else should I never have set 
eyes upon them again. 


CHAPTER IL 


THE LITTLE LADY. 

I COULD not crawl far, I was too exhausted from 
my cruel beating, but I crept to one of my old 
hiding-places and sank down upon a heap of leaves, 
too faint and sick even to think. When my 
faculties slowly came back, I pondered much upon 
what was to become of me. Of one thing I was 
quite certain. I would never go back to Jacques 
Tapin; better death in the forest with snow for my 
winding-sheet. If I had been turned out in summer 
time I should not have cared at all, I could have 
made shift easily; to be cast adrift in the forest in 
December was quite another thing. And I had 
no friend to whom I could go for help, no kind 
neighbour who might perchance have taken pity 
upon me. I had lived so solitary a life, alone in 
the forest always with Jacques and his wife, that I 
had become a veritable savage, shunning the face 
of human kind. I had no thought of leaving the 
woods even now, only some dim idea of getting 
away from Jacques and everyone else, and hiding 
where none could find me. 

Towards noon, feeling a little better, I set forth 
upon my journey, making my way, as I thought, 
9 


2 


lO 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


farther in towards the heart of the forest. But 
first I visited the snares I had long ago learned to 
set, and in one of them I had the good fortune to 
find a young rabbit. I slung it round my neck, for, 
although hungry enough, I had no time to light 
a fire; besides, it might have brought Jacques 
down upon me. Then setting my teeth hard, for 
my foot had swollen and hurt me sorely, I re- 
solved, be the pain what it might, I would not 
stop to rest until I had gone some leagues on my 
journey. 

I know well now that I really travelled scarce 
any distance at all, but at the time I was quite 
satisfied, and thought I had done wonders. I had 
never been so far before, and when night fell, 
thinking myself far away, I lit a fire by the aid of 
flint and steel I always carried about me, and 
roasted my rabbit in the embers. When I had 
eaten I felt better, and, muttering a short prayer 
Mere Tapin had taught me, crossed myself three 
times to keep off the wolves, and crept beneath a 
heap of leaves and lay down by the fire to sleep. It 
was bitterly cold, and had it not been for the pain 
in my foot I might have slept never to wake again. 
As it was, I scarce closed my eyes, rising every 
hour or so to make up the fire and to rub my 
numbed limbs. I was very glad when morning 
dawned though it found me in sad plight. My 
foot was worse; it had swollen to a great size, 
and I could hardly put it to the ground; besides I 
was stiff and sore all over from the effects of my 
beating. Still, I would not give in. I picked up 
a stout stick and limped along as best I could. 


THE LITTLE LADY, 


II 


walking without aim or motive, resolved to go until 
I dropped. 

And this was in fact exactly what I did. I 
was found towards nightfall lying senseless in the 
road on the outskirts of a small village called 
Suresne. Instead of plunging into the depths of 
the forest as I intended, Heaven had directed my 
way otherwise. Every step took me nearer to the 
dwellings of men. It was a peasant woman 
returning from work who stumbled over me, a poor 
widow who tilled a few fields; and lifting me on her 
back, she carried me home. For days I was too ill 
to move, and that good woman, poor as she was, 
nursed and tended me as if I had been a child of 
her own. I was not asked many questions, a home- 
less starving child being too common in those days 
to excite much curiosity. I told the truth in what 
I did say: my name was Jean, I had no one be- 
longing to me; beyond that I said nothing. This 
was not from any desire for secrecy, but simply be- 
cause I was taciturn. I had lived apart from my 
kind for so long that beyond a mere ‘‘ ay ” and 
no ” speech was difficult. 

But for all that I did not forget; on the con- 
trary, as time went on, I thought of Mere Tapin’s 
story more and more. There was good reason 
why I should. Whilst I lived with Widow Des- 
fougeres I began to find out slowly what it meant. 

The widow’s children were young; I was stout 
and big for my age, and as soon as my strength 
came back she was glad of my help. I stayed 
with this good woman for nearly three years, and 
as I worked in the fields by her side I often saw 


12 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


the young lords and ladies from the Seigneur’s 
chateau. They would ride by dressed in fine 
clothes, with long plumes flowing from their caps, 
and bright jewels flashing and glittering in the sun. 
On they would come at full speed, giving utter- 
ance to joyous cries and mirthful laughter, until it 
made one’s work lighter only to see them. I used 
to watch them out of sight, to stand stupidly gaz- 
ing after them even after they were gone, until 
Widow Desfougeres recalled me sharply. I under- 
stood in some dim fashion that such would have 
been my own life had it not been for Jacques Tapin. 
Do not imagine I was discontented, I had not sense 
enough for that; I was perfectly satisfied with my 
condition. I was not beaten, I had enough to eat 
— earth contained no higher felicity. Only once, as 
far as I can remember, in those dark years did I 
feel any stirring of ambition, and surely in that was 
the hand of Fate. 

One day when I was working alone in the fields 
I had the great good fortune to save the Seigneur’s 
only daughter, a dark-eyed girl about a year 
younger than myself, from a position of some 
danger. She was riding with her gay companions 
when her horse took fright, and, after galloping far 
in advance of her friends, began to rear and plunge 
on the edge of a steep cliff. Luckily I was weeding 
near; I caught the bridle, then helped the fright- 
ened young demoiselle to alight. She had been 
very brave during the time of danger, she had not 
shrieked or uttered a cry; but directly all was over 
she had to hold me with both hands to save her- 
self from falling. It was then, with her soft hands 


THE LITTLE LADY. 


13 


clinging to me, that I first realised my boorishness, 
realised what a gulf there was between us, whereas 
if I had my rights I ought to be even as she. There 
was no bitterness in the thought, mind, only a sort 
of dumb wonder; the bitterness was to come later. 
Yet was I a great deal more grateful for the 
demoiselle’s gracious thanks than for the money 
her father presently threw me. After that I watched 
for the little lady always, and she seldom passed me 
without a kindly word. 

Widow Desfougeres was in high spirits when I 
told her what had happened. “ Depend upon it,” 
she said, “ my lord will send for you to the chateau, 
and perhaps give you a place about the stables.” 

My lord did nothing of the kind. The incident 
did not dwell in his mind as it did in ours; he soon 
forgot all about it. 

Widow Desfougeres had been a servant at the 
chateau before she was married, and in the winter 
evenings when we cooked chestnuts amongst the 
embers she would sometimes tell us of the gay 
doings there. 

Mademoiselle Edmee had a brother a few years 
younger than herself, and their mother died soon 
after he was born. 

“ Ah, if it had been the little monsieur you had 
helped,” cried the widow, “ my lord would not have 
forgotten. He is the only son, the apple of his 
father’s eye. The poor mother left him as a dying 
charge to mademoiselle, and, young as she is, she 
is devoted to the boy heart and soul. If his little 
finger does but ache, the nurse was telling me the 
other day. Mademoiselle Edmee will quit all her 


14 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

friends to sit by his side; she is a real mother to 
him, truly.” 

“Yet I have never seen the little monsieur rid- 
ing,” I ventured to interrupt. 

“ Nay, he is a sickly boy, spoilt and self-willed 
besides. He does not care to ride far, and he will 
do only as he likes. Though his sister is so good 
to him, they say he is not kind to her at all; he 
cares for nothing but himself. But then, all the 
nobles are like that; Heaven made them so, and one 
day he will be Marquis of Suresne.” 

I lured the widow on to speak of Mademoiselle 
Edmee as often as I could, and she would some- 
times tell me tales of how tender-hearted she was 
towards the poor, how prompt to help them when 
she had the power. But always would the old serv- 
ant hark back again to the same tale, how the little 
lady lived but for her brother. 

I stayed with the widow Desfougeres, as I have 
said, for nearly three years ; then the harvest turned 
out scanty, her children were older, the poor woman 
could no longer afford to keep me. The widow 
wished me much to go to the chateau and ask for 
employment there, and I have sometimes wondered 
what the course of my life might have been had I 
followed her advice. But something prevented me, 
something I knew not what, some strange shyness 
connected with the demoiselle. I liked well enough 
to watch her from a distance ; to go nearer, to be her 
servant, no — it would make me feel my insignifi- 
cance too much. 


CHAPTER III. 


IN STRANGE COMPANY. 

After some time, for no one seemed very eager 
for my services, I found employment at a wayside 
inn some leagues from Suresne, where they kept 
horses for the use of travellers. Here, among other 
things, I learned how to ride, and could soon keep 
my seat with the best of them. I stayed about a 
year at this place, leaving it at last rather suddenly. 

My master was a bad-tempered man, servile and 
cringing to his customers, but a brute to those in 
his power. I was the least able of all to hold my 
own, and he often used me very hardly. I could 
stand a good deal, for I had served an apprentice- 
ship under Jacques Tapin; but I was older and 
bigger now, and one day he went too far. Business 
was slack. He had been quarrelling all the morn- 
ing, having high words, first with his wife, and then 
with every man about the place, until he finished 
up at last by giving me a good thrashing for no 
misdeed at all. Master landlord was a stout pursy 
man, his strength enfeebled by much drinking, and 
when for once my passive endurance gave way, he 
had no power of resistance. I turned upon him 
fiercely, wrested the stick from his hands, and be- 
15 


1 6 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

laboured his fat carcass until he bellowed and 
shouted for mercy. Not a creature came to his 
help; every one pretended not to hear; they were 
only too glad at what was happening. 

This took place just without the courtyard, and 
it was not until I desisted from sheer want of 
breath I became aware that a horseman had halted 
by the roadside and was grimly watching me. He 
was a big burly man, bronzed almost to blackness 
by exposure to the elements, with fierce bloodshot 
eyes, overshadowed by beetling brows. He had 
two great scars on his face, reaching almost from 
brow to chin, which, combined with a huge mous- 
tache, gave him a savage and sinister appearance. 
A large black riding-cloak enveloped his form close- 
ly, but between the folds I caught the glitter of 
steel, and saw the pistols in his belt. 

“ What ho, tired so soon, boy? ” he called out as 
I dropped the stick to the ground. “ Drub the 
rogue for another five minutes and I will pay thee 
a piece of silver. Ay, that will I,” as I looked 
at him in doubt, “ and take you into my service 
after.” 

I picked up the stick, then let it fall again and 
shook my head. My passion had spent itself, and 
besides, the coward was now grovelling at my feet. 

“ You will not, eh? Tis a pity, the sight amused 
me; you have left off too soon.” 

At the sound of a strange voice help at last 
arrived; the stablemen came running out of the 
yard, women came forth from the inn. 

“ Seize him! Hold him fast! ” cried my master, 
foaming at the mouth as he struggled to his knees. 


IN STRANGE COMPANY, 


17 

“ He is a cursed rogue, a no-man’s brat. I will 
have the flesh flayed of¥ his bones.” 

I made a bolt and tried to escape, but the mas- 
ter’s eye was on them now, and the men were 
too quick for me. After a very short flight I was 
captured and dragged back to the inn. The man 
on horseback took no part in the affair, though 
he watched it with evident delight, and laughed 
loudly when he saw my discomfiture. But when 
all was over, when having ceased to struggle I was 
led away to be bound, he pushed his horse into the 
middle of the throng, and, bending down, caught 
me by the collar. 

“ Wilt serve me?” he said in my ear. 

“ I would serve the devil himself to get out of 
this,” I answered sullenly, for I was not much taken 
with him. I thought, after having offered me 
money to thrash my master longer, he might have 
helped me to get away. 

“You shall, boy; you shall. You have hit the 
mark this time, if never before,” and he seemed to 
shake with silent laughter. “ Catch my stirrup 
and hold fast,” and muttering some words to his 
horse, which seemed a mighty savage beast, the 
brute began not only to plunge and kick, but made 
with open mouth at all around him. My captors 
were compelled to loose me to save themselves, and 
instantly my strange friend set off at a sharp trot, 
I running beside him with all the speed I could 
muster. When we were out of sight of the inn he 
slackened pace a little, saying: 

“ You can take breath now, boy; you will not be 
followed. People are not fond of running ^fter 


1 8 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

me.” Then looking me up and down as if to take 
stock of my capabilities, “ What didst do at the 
tavern yonder?” 

“ Tended the horses and rode post sometimes, 
and helped in the kitchen when house was busy.” 

‘‘ You can do that same for me. I need a horse- 
boy badly. My castle is up in the mountains, whose 
tops you see yonder; you shall stay with me until 
you are hanged.” 

I looked up sharply, and he chuckled. Tis 
the devil’s pay always, and you know you agreed 
to serve him. ’Twas the fate of my last boy; he 
fell into bad hands, and they hanged him as an 
example to the rest. You don’t like it? What 
matters? What difference between feeding the 
crows or the worms?” And he laughed and 
chuckled in his thick throat until I thought he 
would choke. 

I could not tell from his manner whether he were 
in jest or in earnest, so, though I looked at him 
hard, I held my peace and said nothing. 

After a time my new master quickened his speed 
again, still making me run by his side, until he went 
so fast I thought he had forgotten. 

I soon found out my mistake. He was only 
amusing himself ; in default of anything better, even 
my poor sufferings gave him pleasure. He pressed 
me to the utmost, and it was only at the very last, 
when, my feet torn and bleeding, my breath coming 
in slow gasps, I was compelled to loose my hold, he 
came to a halt, and gave me time to recover. 

“Why did you not let go before, boy?” he 
asked, regarding me rather curiously. 


IN STRANGE COMPANY. 


19 


I looked up into his evil face with surprise. 
“ Have I not said I would serve you? Do I not 
belong to you now? I have done my best, but I 
cannot keep up with the horse; it is beyond reason.” 

“ Say rather, you run from the whip of master 
landlord, that would be nearer the truth, I dare 
swear. But I will take you at your word. See 
yonder town?” — and he pointed to where the red 
roofs of houses showed through the trees. “ Kennel 
there for yourself to-night; in the morning meet 
me outside the gates on the other side. Here is 
money ” — and he threw me a small piece of silver 
— “ Master Devil, you know, always finds his serv- 
ants in meat and drink. But seek not to follow 
me, or to find out who I am, else will it be the worse 
for you.” 

I obeyed my orders to the letter. The stranger 
rode on alone, I followed slowly on foot, and for 
that night I saw no more of him. After getting a 
good supper with my earnest penny, I threw my- 
self down upon a heap of straw and did not wake 
until morning. 

When I met my new master on the other side of 
the town, he gave me no word either good or bad, 
only motioned me to take his stirrup and run by 
his side as before. He halted at the first wayside 
inn, however, and, after some little chaffering, 
bought an indifferent good nag, which I mounted 
joyfully. 

We journey thus for three days without inci- 
dent, making always for the mountains, but avoid- 
ing the towns as much as possible, and halting 
at little frequented inns. My master seemed to have 


20 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

lost his jovial spirits. He never spoke save to give 
some order, cuffing me soundly when I did not un- 
derstand quick enough, and with his cloak closely 
muffled about his face he scrutinised keenly every- 
one who passed. I thought him an odd man, but 
not yet did I suspect the truth. 

On the evening of the third day, instead of halt- 
ing for the night as usual, we but stayed an hour 
to rest the horses, then pushed on as fast as we 
could. At last we reached a spot where four roads 
met, when my master pulled up in the midst of the 
open space, and whistled softly a few bars of a 
song. We were joined at once by two horsemen 
who came out from underneath the shadow of a 
group of trees. It was bright moonlight, and I 
could see them well. Both were fully armed, al- 
most as if for battle, yet everything about them 
was disreputable. Their cuirasses were rusty and 
dinted, the plumes in their hats all awry, their long 
beards were matted and dirty, and one was horrible 
to look upon — he had lost his nose. Little as I had 
fancied my master, he seemed a king to them; my 
heart misgave me as I wondered what strange com- 
pany I had got into. 

The new-comers returned my wonder with in- 
terest, until my master, who had suddenly recov- 
ered his good spirits, gave them an account of how 
he had fallen in with me. It was received with 
much laughter — indeed, the story, as he told it, was 
very amusing. I did not know I had done such 
fine deeds. After this we all set off together, 
riding at a brisk trot until it was too dark to 
see, when we halted in a grove of trees. Wine 


IN STRANGE COMPANY, 


21 


and food were produced from somewhere, and 
they treated me so well I soon lost my first repug- 
nance to them. We became the best friends in the 
world. 

We were now at the foot of the mountains which 
had frowned above us so ruggedly, and directly it 
was light enough to see, on we went again. We fol- 
lowed at first a well-defined path which led in and 
out, and around sharp corners, but ever ascended 
higher. Suddenly my master, who was leading, 
quitted this for a rough bridle track along the 
edge of a precipice, and then up the steep mountain- 
side. We journeyed thus for some distance, the 
way growing more difficult at every step, and my 
horse not being so sure-footed as theirs, I had much 
ado to keep my seat. This made me lag behind 
somewhat, until at last they had to pull up and 
wait for me. We were then in the midst of a nar- 
row pass, hemmed in with frowning cliffs, and all 
around bare and sterile. Shut in on every side, 
nothing was to be seen, nothing to be heard, save in 
the distance the brawling of a mountain torrent. If 
this were the usual road to the castle my master 
spoke of, it was very little frequented. 

My new friends were talking together in low 
tones as I approached, and directly I came near 
enough I was ordered to dismount and change 
horses with Gottlieb, the noseless one. 

You told me you could ride,” said my master 
contemptuously. 

“ So I can, monsieur,” I replied, “ or I had lost 
my seat long ago. ’Tis the beast is in fault, not I; 
he is not used to climbing the house-tops.” 


22 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


He was not offended by my freedom; on the 
contrary, I think it rather pleased him, for he re- 
plied in a more good-natured tone, “ Gottlieb’s horse 
can climb a church-steeple; you will profit by the 
exchange, and for fear you should falter on the 
way you shall ride blindfolded. Nay, I am in ear- 
nest,” as I drew back a little. “ We do not teach 
cats the way to the cream, neither do we make 
country boys too wise. If you attempt to remove 
the bandage before you are told we have a very 
short way with those who disobey us — over the cliffs 
you go.” 

My heart sank. I began to realise now into 
whose hands I had fallen. They were brigands 
without doubt, and I was being taken to their 
stronghold in the mountains. Yet after the first 
moment, now that I was fairly in for it, I was more 
curious than frightened. I had nothing to be 
robbed of, my life was not worth taking. I did 
not see what harm they could do to me. 

There were many brigands in France at that 
time, numerous bands scattered up and down the 
country with scarce any to interfere with them. 
One cause of this was the revolt of the Constable 
de Bourbon, one of the greatest men in the land. 
He had been badly treated by the King, and, for- 
getting his duty, had joined hands with the Im- 
perialists to fight against his own country. There 
were many excuses for him, his wrongs were great 
and sore, yet nothing in the world should make a 
true knight a traitor. Some of the great nobles 
were for the Constable, some against him, some 
waited to see which would win. Thus it came about 


IN STRANGE COMPANY, 


23 

that there was no one to keep order, no one to do 
justice in the land at all. 

One band in particular, noted for their daring 
beyond all others, we had often heard of at Suresne. 
They called themselves the Band of the Thousand 
Devils. It was a favourite answer of theirs when 
questioned: “Whence come you?” — “From the 
devil”; “Whither going?” — “To the devil” — and 
their acts corresponded with their words. They 
were the terror of the country-side for miles around. 
I had often shuddered at tales of their doings when 
sitting over the embers on winter nights. My evil 
speech had soon come back to me. I had offered 
in my rage to serve the devil and I was taken at my 
word. 

At the time, however, I thought nothing of this; 
my new companions were far from displeasing me; 
I was as eager to enter the brigands’ stronghold as 
I afterwards was to get out of it. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE THOUSAND DEVILS. 

I ALLOWED myself to be blindfolded, not com- 
plaining even though they drew the handkerchief 
so tightly as to hurt me. Then one led my horse 
by the bridle, and, after a time, by the sounds of 
splashing, I found we were passing through water. 
When this ceased, up we went again, by a way so 
steep I had to hold on to the saddle for dear life. 
Their horses, I found out afterwards, were trained 
to climb like cats. On we went until I thought we 
must be reaching the clouds, when we were brought 
to a stop by a clash of steel, and a ringing cry of 
“ Who goes there? ” The challenge sounded as if 
from above. I could not hear the reply, but at 
once there came a rush as of men scrambling down 
a cliff, and the sound of many welcoming voices., 
I was pulled off my horse and dragged up on foot 
between two men, until at last they came to a halt, 
the bandage was removed, and I was able to look 
about me. 

I found myself upon a large wind-swept plateau, 
the summit of an outlying crag, bounded on all 
sides, save one, by perpendicular precipices. The 
one way of approach, the path up which the men 


24 


THE THOUSAND DEVILS, 


25 

had dragged me, was a steep zig-zag track cut in 
some places out of the rock itself. In the midst of 
the plateau— strange situation, I thought, for a 
dwelling place at such a height— rose the remains 
of what had once been a strong castle. Some of it 
was in ruins, a mere shell open to the sky, but the 
greater part had been roughly repaired and rendered 
habitable. There were no outer walls, or ditch, or 
drawbridge, the precipice answered for all that; but 
there was a large hall surrounded by outbuildings, 
a round tower, and even, to my wonder, a chapel. 
This latter was in very fair preservation; there was 
much fair stone tracery around the window frames 
and slender carved columns. At the far end, raised 
three steps above the level of the floor, stood a 
large statue of our Lady of the Mountains, brave 
with many a jewel, and a lamp ever burning before 
it. Here, I found later, the brigands were wont to 
tell their beads for success before starting upon 
their marauding expeditions. 

On the other side of the plateau, but separated 
from it by a gulf so deep that the tops of fir trees 
growing in the ravine below scarce rose to view, 
there towered a mighty mass of rock, spur of a 
neighbouring mountain whose summit was lost in 
the clouds. It rose straight upright at first, then at 
a great height, a broad shelf stretched out laterally 
like a fan, overshadowing the plateau for a short 
distance. Beneath this natural shelf, which formed 
a shelter from the rain and wind, they had built their 
stables, rude open stalls, formed partly of stones 
brought from the ruins, partly of trunks of trees. 

At the foot of the zig-zag path, at the spot where 


26 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


we had been summoned to halt, was a place called 
the Watch Tower. It was no tower in reality — no 
building at all — simply a roomy cave in the face 
of the rock from whence they could see far and 
wide. Three men were always on watch here, their 
duty being not only to guard the camp, but to give 
notice of travellers making for the passes below, in 
time for the band to sally out and intercept them. 

A strange-looking company were my new com- 
panions. Some were dressed as herdsmen, some 
in buff jerkins and rusty armour, some in tattered 
velvets and satins, the spoils of their forays. And 
the men were as varied as their dress. There were 
court bullies and gamblers who had fled to the 
mountains when the city became too hot for them; 
disbanded soldiers making war on their own ac- 
count; countrymen driven from their homes by ill- 
treatment of their lords ; and poor wretches, escaped 
criminals, branded upon the shoulder or shorn of 
ears or nose like my friend Gottlieb. Truly they 
were a motley crew. My master, whose service I 
had entered so oddly, was captain of the band; his 
word was law to the whole of them. 

There were good times and bad times among 
the brigands, but when I arrived they were very 
flourishing; rioting and profusion went hand in 
hand. Huge carcasses of the chamois and the deer, 
split in half, were roasting before great fires; there 
was a meal barrel heaped up with black bread, and 
wine skins filled to the throat were continually being 
pierced and emptied. 

Next morning, when the first rejoicings for the 
return of the captain had come to an end, I was 


THE THOUSAND DEVILS. 


27 


given in charge to Gottlieb, who undertook to show 
me my duties. He led me first to the stables, the 
row of open stalls I have already spoken of beneath 
the overhanging cliff. After giving the captain’s 
horse into my especial care, together with numerous 
other directions, not necessary to set down, he went 
on to say — 

“ You may eat with us, drink with us, talk with 
us, but you may not ride with us, nor take any 
share of our gains. You cannot become one of the 
Thousand Devils until you have killed your man.” 

“Killed what man? What do you mean?” I 
cried, a little startled. 

“ Anyone, the first who comes to hand, the first 
that our Lady of the Mountains sends you. We 
bring prisoners here sometimes; if they are not 
ransomed they have to die, and the job is always 
to the latest comer. You need not do it unless it 
so pleases you, we compel no one to join us; but 
until your hands are as red as ours you will not be 
free of the band, neither will you be allowed to pass 
the sentry.” 

“I am a prisoner then?” I said carelessly; I 
was not going to let him think I was frightened. 

“ Only until you join us. Then, if you rob 
gallantly and obey the captain’s orders, your life 
will be a merry one as long as it lasts.” 

“ And if I do not choose to join? ” 

Gottlieb shrugged his shoulders. “ All the bet- 
ter for us; our share will be the larger. You will be 
our horse-boy instead of our comrade, and if you 
attempt to escape you will be shot down like the 
dog you are. But that will not be; you are no 


28 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

coward I can tell by the cut of you. When the 
prisoners come we shall see. We have none as yet; 
there will be time to make up your mind. Dost 
know how to handle gun and pistol? ” 

“ Not a whit. I never had the chance.’’ 

“ We’ll soon teach you. Shalt not miss your 
man for want of skill. Come now, and I’ll show 
you how to load and fire.” 

The men slept in the old castle and in the out- 
buildings, where was room for a whole troop, but 
until I was one of the band I was ordered to re- 
main in the stables. The outermost stall was given 
me, open at the top just the same as the others, 
and with the ground for my bed, and a tattered 
bearskin for a cover, I began my new life. 

I found plenty to do when the whole band were 
at home. I was everyone’s servant, with never a 
moment to rest, from early morning until late at 
night. Yet, taken altogether, for the first part of 
the time at least, I had nothing to complain of. I 
had no more cuffs and kicks than might have been 
expected, and never once was I beaten. That may 
seem a small thing to make one content, but too 
'much stick is as bad as too little, and it was not 
master landlord’s fault that I did not fall into evil 
courses. 

But when the captain led his men on some far 
off. expedition, they would be away for days at a 
time, and save for those on guard in the Watch 
Tower I had the place to myself. And the guard 
never came up; the captain was obeyed when absent 
just as if he were at hand; they never left their post 
for an hour. I had to prepare food and carry it 


THE THOUSAHD DEVILS. 


29 


down to them twice a day, but I was never allowed 
to remain, never allowed to pass beyond one ap- 
pointed spot. All the time I was in the brigands’ 
camp I was never inside the cave. And I soon 
found there was no other way down, for when left 
to myself I explored the plateau thoroughly. All 
around, save in that one place, was sheer precipice, 
so deep that no rope could reach the bottom. 

"Save to prepare the men’s food and keep the 
lamp filled in the chapel, I had scarce anything to 
do, and as the nights were shrewdly chill I set to 
work to improve my sleeping place. I brought 
more stones from the ruins, filled up the crevices 
with moss and earth; hardest of all, contrived a 
roof with beams and planks I picked up around. 
I even fitted up a broken door I found lying un- 
used, and thus shut the wind out altogether. The 
men laughed at my fine house when they came back, 
and Gottlieb shook his head and asked if I meant 
to remain a horse-boy always; but no one inter- 
fered with me. I was allowed to keep it for myself. 
I mention this here because later this hut played 
some part in my history. 

Two or three months passed thus without any- 
thing happening that concerns me to mention. The 
brigands plied their trade down below, and when 
they came back, loaded with booty, there were riot- 
ous feasts and drinking bouts, lasting sometimes 
for days. When they grew tired of idleness, or 
when news was brought by some of their many 
emissaries that travellers were on the way, they all 
made ready and started forth to rob and plunder 
again. Happily, up in those mountain solitudes I 


30 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


saw little of their doings, but they were great boast- 
ers, and their talk of deeds of blood soon became 
familiar to me. Sometimes I shuddered, sometimes 
I longed to make one of them, according to the 
character of the story; yet I never once doubted 
but that when the time came I should join them. 

I saw little of my master, the captain; he never 
took any notice of me now. He was very popular 
with the band and governed them easily. Every- 
thing had prospered with the Thousand Devils, 
they said, since they chose the brave Baron for their 
captain. I thought at first they were jesting when 
they called him my Lord the Baron, but it appeared 
such indeed was his real title. He was an outlawed 
noble, who, for some offence committed at court, 
had been forced to fly for his life. His estates had 
been confiscated, he dared not show himself where 
he was known, and had been driven to take refuge 
with the brigands. 

“ And a good thing it was for us,” said Gottlieb 
one day. “ We soon saw what sort of a man he 
was and made him our captain. His rule is strict, 
if you disobey — pouf, a puff of smoke or a rope 
round the beam yonder, and all is over. But what 
of that when it is for the good of all of us? I will 
tell you one thing though, I would not care to be 
in the shoes of those who sent him here.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Because Monsieur le Baron has a long mem- 
ory. If one of his enemies should happen to fall into 
his hands there will be little talk of ransom, I war- 
rant you. I have heard speak of some noble lord 
not many leagues away; it was something to do 


THE THOUSAND DEVILS. 


31 

with the matter took the captain so far that last 
journey.” 

There was a loud laugh at this. 

“ He went for a noble lord and brought back 
Jean. A fine exchange truly ! ” 

But Gottlieb stuck to his text. “ Jean was an 
accident, he was picked up on the way; we shall 
know nothing about the captain’s business until 
the time comes.” 

I listened to their talk carelessly, paying more 
attention to polishing my master’s cuirass than to 
their idle words; but afterwards I had reason to 
remember them. 


CHAPTER V. 


PUT TO THE TEST. 

Hitherto my life in the brigands' stronghold 
had been tame and uneventful, but my courage was 
now to be put to the test. The day came at last 
when two prisoners were brought in to be held to 
ransom. They were burghers, inhabitants of a large 
town some leagues distant, who had travelled to- 
gether for safety. 

One was old, a grey-haired venerable-looking 
man, clad in sober coloured garments of rich qual- 
ity, as if he were a citizen of substance. The other 
was younger and dressed in much smarter fashion, 
almost indeed as if he aped somewhat the nobles. 
With bandaged eyes and arms bound behind them, 
they were forced up the zig-zag path by sharp 
pricks from the brigand’s knives. They were both 
in sad case, torn and dishevelled from rough 
handling; the older man, in particular, showed such 
manifest signs of suffering that I could not help 
pitying him. Nothing was done that evening, for 
it was already late when they arrived; they were 
given food and drink and shut up in the old tower 
for the night. In the morning they were brought 
forth, writing materials — kept in readiness for such 


32 


PUT TO THE TEST. 


33 


purposes — were placed before them, a sum of money 
was fixed as ransom, and they were ordered to com- 
municate with their friends. 

Whilst awaiting the return of the messenger — 
who was expected to be absent about a week — the 
prisoners were well treated and allowed to roam 
about the plateau. But when the man came back 
there was trouble. The friends of the younger pris- 
oner had sent only half the sum demanded; for the 
other there was nothing at all. 

Affairs of this kind were always conducted in 
public, and as the men gathered round to hear all 
that passed, I edged myself in among them. The 
younger burgher, who seemed a sad craven, was 
on his knees before the captain pleading for time 
to send another letter. The elder man looked on 
indifferently. Permission was granted at length, 
the writing things brought out again, and the 
frightened wretch, still on his knees, traced a few 
straggling lines on the paper. He had scarce fin- 
ished when the captain drew his knife, and, quick 
as thought, sliced off the kneeling man’s ear. His 
yell of pain arose sharp and shrill, yet was it drowned 
in the loud roar of applause that burst forth from 
all around. The captain held up his hand, and at 
once there was silence. Tossing the bleeding bit of 
flesh to the messenger, he said: 

“Give that as our seal; it will teach them the 
Thousand Devils are not to be trifled with. The 
whole sum is still to pay, mind; I will take what 
they have sent as drink money.” Then he turned 
to the other prisoner with, “ And now, my friend, 
what have you to say?” 


34 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


The old man shook his head. ‘‘ Nothing. I 
wrote because you ordered it so, I never expected 
to be ransomed. My next heir has long wished 
me out of the way; he will not lose the opportun- 
ity.^^ 

“ You know the alternative? ” 

“ Undoubtedly, but I have lived long enough, I 
hope, to look death in the face without flinching. 
I would beg only that if it be possible I may see a 
priest before I die.” 

“ That is a boon easily granted. We never fail 
in paying our dues to the priest in the valley below; 
he is at our service whenever we send for him. 
But I will treat you both alike; write once more 
and do it quickly, so the messenger be on his way 
by sundown.” 

“ As you please,” the old man returned in care- 
less tone. “ Only there is no need to mutilate me. 
I assure you beforehand that the sight of both my 
ears would make no difference.” 

The captain laughed approvingly. He always 
admired a brave man. 

“ You are no coward, it is a pity you are too 
old to join us. If you have to die it shall be as a 
whole man, and be you sure I will bear your heir 
in mind — he shall not escape punishment.” 

After that there was another week of waiting, 
during which the younger prisoner remained sulkily 
within the tower, nursing his wounded head. I 
was glad of that, as it gave me an opportunity of 
speaking to the other one. I had taken a liking to 
the old man from the first; when I heard his fearless 
way of speaking to the captain I thought even 


PUT TO THE TEST. 


35 


more of him. Then, as I watched with what ease 
he wrote, it came into my mind at once that he 
could read me my letter. There were several among 
the brigands who could read and write both, one 
Antonio, of Padua, was as learned as any clerk. 
But I had never trusted one of them, and I kept my 
letter and ring always concealed about me. I was 
very anxious all the same to know what was in- 
scribed upon it, and now I thought was my chance. 

I had to wait upon the prisoners, taking them 
their meat, which they ate usually in the open air; 
now I served the old man alone. As I stood by 
his side, after first looking carefully around to be 
sure no one was near, I said in a low tone, “ Mon- 
sieur, may I speak a few words to you on business 
of my own?” He looked a little surprised, but 
nodded his head, and I went on, pouring out his 
wine the while: 

“ "Tis a letter I would fain have read by some- 
one who will not deceive me.” 

He smiled grimly. Stolen goods, and you 
would trust me rather than your comrades? Truly, 
it is a false saying that there is honour among 
thieves. You are trying to filch more than your 
share, I suppose. I am afraid, my lad, that I can- 
not help you.” 

“ It is not stolen; it has naught to do with any 
one of them,” I returned indignantly. “ It was writ 
by my murdered father, and I would find out if I 
can his name and station.” 

The old burgher stayed eating at this, and 
looked up with eyes that seemed to pierce me 
through. I would not be abashed, lest he should 


36 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

think me false, and gave him back a gaze steady 
as his own. 

“They murdered him?” he said, waving his 
hand toward the camp. 

“ No, monsieur; it was long before I came here. 
In Picardy, when I was a child.” 

“ Tell me more. Stay ” as one of the men 

slowly sauntered by, and raising his voice a little, 
“ Good friend, I think not over much of your cook. 
Yesterday my meat was raw, to-day — faugh, it is 
scorched to a cinder. I pray you bring me another 
flask of wine to wash the taste away. Not here, but 
in that sheltered corner among the ruins yonder, 
where the wind does not blow so chill.” 

The spot master burgher had selected was well 
fitted for our conference, for, whilst he sat full in 
view, I crouched out of sight behind a broken wall, 
so that we could not be seen talking together. And 
in this position he made me tell my story, asking 
so many questions that I kept nothing back at all. 
When I had finished, 

“ Boy, I believe and I pity you,” he said. “ Take 
the advice of an old man, and quit this vile life as 
soon as you can. As for your letter, I much fear 
it will be writ in the barbarous English tongue, if 
so, I shall not be able to read it. My own language, 
and the Latin — the Italian and the Spanish even, 
for they have to do with my trade — I could give 
a good account of, but my business has not been 
with those proud islanders; I know nothing of their 
jargon. Pass it quickly now, whilst we are safe 
from observation.” 

I watched his face through a crevice as he looked 


PUT TO THE TEST 


37 

over it, and could see his brow darken with morti- 
fication. 

“It is of no use,” he said at length; “save the 
name at the foot I cannot understand one word.” 

“And what is the name?” I cried; “that will 
be something.” 

“ John — which means Jean in our tongue — John 
of Strathbourne. There is John writ, too, in the 
body of the letter, but what it refers to I know not. 
It is mostly likely some order to his servants; ’tis 
too carelessly penned to be of any consequence.” 

I have thought since the old burgher made light 
of the letter because he could not read it, but at 
the time my faith in him was implicit. 

“ Then it can tell me nothing,” I said, greatly 
disappointed. 

“ Nothing likely to be of any use to you, my 
friend. The knight would have come from the 
town of Calais, which the English took from us of 
old; but to seek out his name there now would be 
like searching for a millet seed in a bundle of hay. 
Englishmen killed in Picardy are plentiful as nuts 
in harvest. Heaven be thanked for that same; they 
do not have it quite all their own way. Still, if 
you should ever wander so far, I have a friend in 
Calais who would be grateful to know what hath 
chanced to me. Go you to the house with the 
sign of the Dog and Porridge Pot, hard by the 
convent of the Black Friars, and ask for one 
Master Surbeck. Tell him in what manner I, 
Crispin Papillard, burgher of the good town of 
Gravenel, met my end, and for my sake he will 
befriend you. He will put you in the way of gain- 


38 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


ing an honest living that is; as for the dead man, 
it is naught, it happened so long ago. For the ring, 
that also is nought, though had it but borne a coat 
of arms it might have helped you greatly. There 
is nothing, you see, save a useless badge, two let- 
ters inclosed within a heart. Tis a betrothal ring, 
most like. The gold is good, however; it would 
sell for a crown or two to help you on your 
way.” 

He was still holding it, weighing it in his hand, 
when a shadow fell athwart the grass — the captain 
had come suddenly upon us. It was too late to 
give it back to me, too late even to conceal it; 
and, as I crouched in my corner, I wondered much 
what the burgher would do. The old man was 
equal to the occasion. He rose as the captain ap- 
proached, and, holding out my precious ring, said 
courteously : 

“ I have a ring here. Monsieur Capitaine, I 
would fain bestow upon a boy in your service who 
has showed me some civility. It is of small value, 
as you see; but I have nothing else, I have been 
stripped too clean.” 

I could see my master’s grim smile from where 
I was hidden. 

“ Ay, ay, they mostly strip clean enough,” he 
returned, eyeing it indifferently. “ I marvel they 
have left you so much. Give the bauble to the 
boy an you will. He does not take his share yet, 
but ’tis worth little, as you say, and they deserve 
to lose it for their carelessness.” And he turned on 
his heel and walked off. 

Needless to say, I was overjoyed to be in posses- 


PUT TO THE TEST. 


39 

sion of my ring again, and lost no time in placing 
it in safety. 

Three days after this incident the return of the 
messenger put the camp once more into commo- 
tion. He brought the full amount fixed for the 
ransom of the younger prisoner, but nothing for 
the old man. There was a letter, which the cap- 
tain read aloud, a missive full of excuses and pro- 
testations, but of money not one crown. 

“ I am sorry for you, Messire,” said the captain, 
but it is necessary that our laws should be obeyed. 
I promised you a priest — Gottlieb, let the holy man 
be sent for at once. Monsieur Barnito, here ” — 
pointing to the other prisoner — “ will remain as our 
guest until all is over; he can then tell the good 
citizens how scrupulously we keep our word.” 

In no very long time the priest arrived, con- 
ducted up the zig-zag path blindfolded as usual. 
He manifested no apprehension, his stout rubicund 
visage not being in the least troubled. It seemed 
to me as if he had been through it all before. Some 
few words of remonstrance he did begin to mutter, 
I suppose to satisfy his conscience; but when the 
captain told him a dying man awaited him in the 
chapel, he turned his steps thither at once, and did 
,not come out again until all was over. 

I had been watching all that passed rather sadly. 
I was grieved for the coming fate of Master Papil- 
lard, but as yet I had quite forgotten that it also 
concerned myself. Strange to say, Gottlieb’s words 
had completely passed out of my mind, and — 
whether by accident or design I know not — never 
once had the brigands reminded me. I was now 


40 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


to be rudely awakened, and that by the captain him- 
self, the first time he had deigned to speak to me 
since I came to the camp. 

“ Jean,” he said in a loud voice, though his tone, 
for him, was very gracious, “ Jean, your chance 
has come at last, it is time you ceased to be a horse- 
boy. Play the man now, and you shall be enrolled 
among the Thousand Devils, an honour that does 
not fall to all. Bring forth the prisoner” — and as 
the old man was led out of the chapel, his arms fast 
bound to his side, Gottlieb placed a gun in my 
hand — “ Shoot me down the worthy citizen yonder, 
and you are free of us.” 

I started back in affright. To kill an old man 
who had never harmed me, to kill him deliberately 
in cold blood, was terrible. Yet my pride forbade 
me to refuse. I wanted to join the brigand band, 
I wanted to quit my monotonous life and become 
one of them; above all, I feared to be called a 
coward. 

I looked round; they were in earnest, they 
meant it; not one face showed the least sign of 
relenting. On the contrary, they were laughing 
and jesting, making bets as to whether I should 
fail, looking forward to the result with eagerness. 
At a short distance to the left stood the old burgher, 
bareheaded and leaning against the wall. 

Seeing my hesitation the captain cried with a 
scornful air: “ If your heart fails, boy, you can leave 
it alone. You may do as you please, the Thousand 
Devils want no cowards.” 

The word coward stung me. I raised the gun to 
my shoulder and took aim. And just at that mo- 


PUT TO THE TEST 


41 


ment I caught the old man’s eyes fixed full upon 
me. So might my father have looked upon his mur- 
derers. I could not, it was impossible; and throw- 
ing down the gun I turned away. 

At once the captain dealt me a buffet that 
stretched me on the ground, a volley rang out, and 
when I rose again all was over. The old man, 
riddled with bullets, had fallen face forwards — brave 
Master Papillard was dead. 

The body was easily disposed of ; it was cast over 
the precipice to feed the vultures, and, amid jeers 
and taunts, I slunk away to prepare the horses for 
the travellers. 


4 


CHAPTER VI. 


WHAT THE LANDSLIP DID FOR ME. 

I HAD a hard life of it after this. The captain 
did not waste another word upon me, but scoffs, 
sneers, and no small stint of blows became my daily 
portion from the others. It came to this at last 
— in sheer despair I acknowledged that I was in 
fault, and vowed next time not to fail them. My 
decision was received with shouts of applause. I 
was made to swear a solemn oath, sealing it with 
drops of my blood, and then all went right again. 

Before this, however, I had made two or three 
attempts to escape, but always I was discovered and 
turned back. Once, when I took provisions to the 
Watch Tower, I strayed beyond the bounds, under 
pretence of gathering dry wood, meaning to make 
a rush for it. A bullet was at once sent through 
my hat, and a second just grazed my shoulder. 
“ That is only by way of warning,” they shouted 
from above, laughing at my discomfiture. “ When 
we aim to hit, we kill.” 

It was then I gave in, as I said. I felt if fate 
had doomed me to be a brigand, what use to fight 
against it? Afterwards, when a way of escape did 
present itself, the chance came too late; I no longer 


42 


WHAT THE LANDSLIP DID FOR ME, 43 

desired to take advantage of it. Save that I was 
still confined to the plateau, I was treated by all 
as a comrade, and had grown so reconciled to my 
position, that I no longer cared to change it; I 
might, perhaps, go farther and fare worse. This 
was partly owing to Master Papillard. Since he 
had extinguished the faint hope I once had of dis- 
covering my father’s name and family, I did not 
see that I could do better than remain where I was. 
After all, once the first plunge over, a brigand’s 
life was a merry one, and, save the captain, we 
called no man master. It was thus I reasoned to 
myself and strove to stifle an inner voice that would 
not always be silent. 

I must tell you now how it was that I discovered 
a way of escape, how through sheer accident, as I 
thought then, a path was opened for me. I was 
alone in the camp. The band, save those in the 
Watch Tower, had departed on a distant expe- 
dition; I did not expect them back for days. Then 
one night there arose a great storm of tremendous 
violence, one of the worst I ever witnessed. The 
thunder pealed like mighty artillery, echoing and 
crashing from peak to peak until I thought the 
mountains were about to fall upon me. And the 
lightning was terrible. Incessant flashes, which 
sometimes tore up the ground and burst in balls 
of fire, until I was fain to close my eyes lest I 
should be blinded. 

I was not particularly frightened. I had led too 
hardy a life to mind a storm, be it ever so violent; 
but I was discomposed by the torrents of rain and 
the wind, and retired within my hut until it should 


44 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


be over. I was not to escape so easily, however. I 
had scarce lain down in my old bearskin, curling 
myself round like a dog for warmth, when I was 
very effectually startled. There came a mighty 
thunderclap, directly, as it seemed, above my head, 
followed immediately by a shower of rocks and 
stones. The greater part went down the abyss, 
with a roar that might have been heard for miles, 
but enough remained to crush in my frail roof and 
almost to bury me. It was a miracle that I was 
not killed on the spot; as it was, I escaped with 
sundry cuts and bruises. I made a rush for the 
door, thinking, in my fright, surely it was an earth- 
quake; and directly I got outside the wind caught 
and buffeted me until I was nearly over the preci- 
pice. I threw myself flat upon the ground, and 
crawled along best way I could until I reached the 
further side of the tower where it was somewhat 
more sheltered. Here I resolved to remain until 
daylight, and, notwithstanding my fright, I must 
have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, the sun 
was shining, a soft breeze blowing, naught remained 
of the storm save the ravages it had left behind it. 

I had half expected to find the old castle blown 
flat to the ground. To my surprise it was little 
injured; the damage had been confined to my quar- 
ter. There had been a landslip on the shelf above, 
part of which had gone down the abyss, and it was 
the flying debris that had so nearly killed me. Even 
now a huge pine tree, half uprooted, hung sus- 
pended head downwards exactly over my hut; I 
scarce dared enter to clear away the rubbish, fear- 
ing every moment it would fall. If I wanted to 


WHAT THE LANDSLIP DID FOR ME. 45 

remain in my present quarters it was plain that 
I must get rid of this tree. On one side it overhung 
the precipice, and, after looking all round, I fan- 
cied that if I could drag it a little more that way 
a vigorous pull or two might send it over. Full 
of this idea, I contrived, after infinite difficulty, to 
pass a rope round the lowest branch, and pulling 
this way and that, did my best to perform the im- 
possible. The end was, that gradually forgetting 
my first caution, for I was very near the brink, I 
gave such a vigorous pull that I lost my footing 
and swung out over the abyss, the branch bending 
and swaying ominously above me. 

It was not a very pleasant moment. 

I could see my body bounding from crag to crag 
until, a bruised and battered mass, it fell upon the 
pine trees below. 

But my very despair gave me strength. Scarce 
knowing how I did it, I climbed up desperately, 
hand over hand, to reach a stouter branch before 
the one that held rhe gave way. I succeeded in 
this; then my terror was that the tree itself was 
slipping, and on I scrambled, regardless of bleeding 
face and torn hands, until I stood safely upon the 
shelf. Once there I saw at a glance how vain had 
been my fears, how useless my efforts to move the 
tree. The landslip truly had stretched it prostrate; 
but its roots, the growth of ages, were still fast an- 
chored in the ground, it would have needed a dozen 
men at least to stir it. 

As soon as I recovered from my first fright I 
began to look about me with great curiosity; it 
was so strange to be standing on the inaccessible 


46 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


shelf I had so often surveyed from below. Save 
at the outer edge it was bounded on each side by 
lofty mountains, whose tops seemed to pierce the 
clouds, and when I turned my back to the preci- 
pice, before me was a narrow ravine thickly wooded 
with pine trees. I plunged within this at once, and 
wandered here and there, eager to explore its in- 
most recesses. There was no track, no sign of man 
anywhere; it seemed almost as if I were the first 
to set foot in it. And the stillness was profound. 
As I wandered on — the ground carpeted so thickly 
with fir needles that my footsteps made no sound 
— I saw no living creature, nothing moved, save 
now and again a withered leaf floated slowly to 
earth. For a time all was still the same, the wooded 
ravine shut in by bare rock, the sides steep and pre- 
cipitous, impossible to climb. Then gradually the 
mountains retreated, the gorge widened and came 
abruptly to an end. I found myself upon the edge 
of an almost perpendicular cliff, from whence I 
could see the lower country, valleys, trees, and plain 
spread out as on a map before me. In the distance 
I even fancied I could discern the sun shining upon 
the high-pitched roofs of a village. But this was 
far, far away, many leagues of difficult mountain 
travel still separated me from the nearest habitation. 
Difficult, yes, but to a strong arm and steady brain 
not impossible; and as I stood looking down, all 
at once it flashed across me that I had won my 
liberty. Evidently this side of the mountain was 
unknown to the brigands, I had but to keep on and 
I was free. 

For a moment I rejoiced; then came the coward- 


WHAT THE LANDSLIP DID FOR ME, 47 

ly thought — To what purpose? Why should I put 
myself in the way of unknown hardships when a 
merry, easy life was at my hand? No, I would 
remain where I was, I would keep my word and 
join the brigands. It was an ignoble determination 
truly, and though afterwards I had reason to be 
thankful I stayed my steps, that does not lessen the 
shame of it. 

Notwithstanding this resolution, my discovery 
was not worthless; on the contrary, it was a great 
satisfaction to me. For one thing, I had the pleas- 
ure of knowing I was able to escape if I chose. 
But I figured to myself a better way. After I had 
been admitted to the band, when I was free to come 
and go as I would, I would bring my chosen com- 
rades the way I had just travelled and show how I 
could have left them had I wished. I resolved to 
keep the secret until then, and hugged the idea of 
my triumph. 

It was very easy to get back again ; I had but to 
make the rope secure and descend upon my hut. 
To go up and down regularly, however, was more 
difficult, as I had to devise a means that others 
could not discover. It cost me some time and 
trouble, and I tried many ways before I hit on the 
right one; but at last I succeeded in managing it. 
I cut down nearly all the tree from above, leaving 
only one short branch exactly above my hut, but 
to this branch, had anyone looked closely, was at- 
tached a loop of thin line. When I stood up on 
my roof, by the aid of a long hooked stick, I could 
just reach this loop, and when I pulled it, down 
came a stout rope with thick knots in it to assist 


48 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


me in climbing. It was the easier to arrange be- 
cause beneath the cliff there was always something 
of a shadow, and I guided the branch into the dark- 
est corner I could find. 

After that, whenever the brigands were absent, 
I climbed up to the shelf every day, and leaving 
the ravine far behind me, made a track of my own 
down the mountain side. I descended as far even 
as a deserted hut I chanced upon in a sheltered 
nook. It had apparently once sheltered a mountain 
shepherd, a small inclosure surrounded by a low 
wall having served as a fold, but it had long been 
forsaken. The walls of the fold were broken down, 
the wild goat and the chamois had taken possession, 
but the little hut of one room was in fair preserva- 
tion still. Beyond this spot I dared not venture. 
I was expected at the Watch Tower at certain hours, 
I had to be careful not to excite suspicion by loi- 
tering. 

I kept my secret well. When the brigands re- 
turned some questions were asked about the storm, 
and I had to assist in making good the damage 
to the old castle; but no one cast a glance towards 
my little hut, no one had the slightest suspicion 
of my great discovery. They brought no prisoners 
again, the Thousand Devils were now so well known 
that few travellers worth robbing dared attempt the 
passes. They had to go farther afield each time, 
sometimes even despoiling a far-off village, and 
when that was the case they seldom encumbered 
themselves with captives. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE captain’s VENGEANCE J^EGINS. 

At length the day dawned that was to alter my 
whole life, to change indeed my very nature. 

I had perceived for some time that something 
serious was on foot. Messengers — for the most 
part disguised as beggars — were constantly coming 
and going, and the captain himself spent most of 
his time at the Watch Tower. And yet for once 
the men did not seem over pleased with the pros- 
pect. There was much overhauling of arms and 
furbishing of accoutrements, and as they worked 
a few of them looked almost sullen and as if, had 
they dared, they would have grumbled. As it was, 
I overheard one mutter to another, “ Mark me, 
Antonio, there will be more blows than crowns in 
this bout. I like not flying at so high game.” 

“ Tush, man,” answered the other, “ the captain 
knows what he is about. Besides, has he not prom- 
ised that his share of the booty shall be ours, he 
will claim nothing but the prisoners?” 

“ And the ransom? ” 

“ They will not be put to ransom, a chance for 
Jean at last. ’Tis the captain’s enemy; he has sworn 
not to spare his life.” 


49 


50 


JOHN OF STRATHBOUKNE. 


Twill bring bad luck, you see. A dozen of fat 
citizens would never be missed, but when it comes 
to carrying off a noble it will bring trouble. Be- 
sides, they are sure to have a large escort; we may 
even get the worst of it.” 

“Pshaw! Can you not trust the captain? Is he 
not noble himself? He will know how to manage. 
Hush, here he comes; best not let him hear you or 
he will think we have a coward among us.” 

The whole band rode off the next day before 
dawn, returning, rather to my surprise, for I had 
not expected them back so soon, early the follow- 
ing morning. They had been riding all night, mak- 
ing all the haste they could to reach their retreat 
before daylight. They came back fewer in number 
than they went, and many were sore wounded. 
Some of the men were even unable to climb the 
steep, and had to be left at the Watch Tower below. 

They had met with a stiff resistance, that was 
very clear; indeed, I soon found they had narrowly 
escaped being beaten. Had not part of the escort 
turned cowards and fled, there would have been a 
different tale. 

As it was, they had succeeded; one glance at the 
captain’s face told me that — not to speak of the 
booty with which they were loaded, and the little 
group of prisoners. I had only a passing glimpse 
of these latter, as they were carefully escorted to 
the tower, yet I fancied I caught sight of a woman’s 
gown. I felt my time had come at last; before the 
next day dawned I should be one of the Thousand 
Devils. 

For some hours there was the usual commotion, 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE BEGINS. 51 

then, after noon, when the men had eaten and 
rested, the prisoners were brought forth. I saw 
them plainly enough now — three men, a boy, and a 
young girl. One long horrified look, because at 
first I could not believe my eyes, and I recognised 
two of them: the Marquis of Suresne and the 
demoiselle his daughter, whose life I had once saved. 
She was older now, and her face pale as death with 
grief and terror. As well it might be, for the con- 
flict had come so close that her dress was deeply 
stained with blood — the blood of those who had 
tried to defend her. 

The Marquis was badly wounded. He had 
fought as a brave gentleman would until over- 
powered by numbers; it was only owing to the 
strenuous endeavours of the captain they had been 
able to bring him off the field alive. 

I guessed at once who the boy was, a lad of 
some eleven years. He bore not the slightest re- 
semblance to his dark-eyed sister, but he clung 
to her so closely (I remembered the widow’s words), 
it could be none other than her brother. And, 
besides, his hair showed that he was a noble. Ex- 
cept over the forehead, where it was cut short 
and straight, it hung down nearly to his shoulders; 
a distinguishing mark permitted only, as everyone 
knows, to children of good birth. For the rest, the 
young Monsieur Louis was a slight sickly-looking 
boy, with retreating brow, watery eyes,. and pale 
thin lips. He was richly dressed in black velvet 
embroidered with gold, and the plume in his little 
cap was still fastened with a costly jewel. The 
demoiselle, his sister, had been more in the wars; 


52 


JOHN OF STFATHBOURNE. 


her long gown of grey and silver was stained, as I 
have said, and torn and rent as well, and some rude 
hand had snatched her hood. 

The little monsieur seemed almost beside him- 
self with terror. He cried and whimpered as he 
clung to his sister’s dress, and looked the very pic- 
ture of despair. Mademoiselle de Suresne, on the 
contrary, regardless of her fears, held herself erect 
and gazed around undauntedly. 

The other two were strangers, but one, an old 
man, with grey hair, surmounted by a close-fitting 
cap, soon turned out to be tutor to the young lord; 
the other was a public notary. The Demoiselle of 
Suresne was on her way to be given in marriage 
to a cousin, and the notary was in charge of the 
marriage contract. 

The Marquis had to be assisted in walking. He 
was too much hurt to stand upright, and yet they 
had bound his arms. But he did not flinch, and 
when confronted with the captain he gave him 
back look for look bold as his own. He recog- 
nised my master; they were enemies of old. Indeed, 
it was to the Marquis of Suresne and his brother 
that the Captain of the Thousand Devils ascribed 
his ruin. He had laid his plans well, he meant to 
be revenged on them both. The Marquis knew 
his fate was sealed, he wasted no words concerning 
himself, yet even his proud spirit stooped to beg 
for mercy to his children. I was becoming hard- 
ened as the rest, yet I quailed before the look of 
devilish malignity upon the captain’s face whilst 
his enemy was speaking. Then with an evil smile 
he answered slowly : “ I think I may promise that 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE BEGINS, 53 

not one hair of their heads shall be hurt. I do 
not fancy that the young Marquis — as he soon will 
be — will refuse my conditions. As to your daugh- 
ter, I destine her to great honour. I see by the 
papers found amongst your baggage that you meant 
to bestow her hand upon that puny fop, her cousin. 
What has he? Nothing. What is his father? Your 
half-brother truly, yet a mere hanger-on at a petty 
Italian court. I will do better for her than that. 
I am of rank equal to your own, my wealth is un- 
told — for I can always replenish my treasury — she 
shall become my wife, and Queen of the Thousand 
Devils.” 

“ You villain! You demon! ” cried the wretched 
father. “ Rather would I see her stretched dead 
at my feet ! ” and he strove to wrench himself 
free. 

“ Nay, calm yourself, my friend,” returned the 
captain, mockingly, “ your struggles will but ac- 
celerate the end. You have not heard me out yet. 
On my honour I will treat the lady with all con- 
sideration. She shall not become my wife, I give 
you my word, unless she agrees willingly, and has 
also the consent of the young Marquis, her brother. 
And everything shall be in due form. The notary, 
whose life I will spare for the purpose, shall draw 
up the contract, I have already sent for the priest, 
the chapel is close at hand, all shall be in order, I 
assure you. I will not even tell the lady what is 
false, I will not say, as I might, that it was her 
father’s dying wish.” And he smiled again, enjoy- 
ing his victim’s sufferings to the full. “ You robbed 
me of a bride once, remember; it is but just you 


54 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


should supply me with another. But it shall be as 
I say. You know of old I always keep my word. I 
will not wed her against her will.” 

“ Ah, but how will you make her willing, demon? 
What devilish plot have you devised now? Hear 
me, Edmee” — and the Marquis raised his voice 
that his words might reach his children. 

But the captain, who never forgot anything, had 
seen to that beforehand. The demoiselle and her 
brother, surrounded by a little group of guards, 
were stationed on a hillock at some distance. They 
could see their father, could see everything that 
passed; but weakened as the marquis was from 
loss of blood, they were too far off for his faint 
voice to reach them. 

“ It is useless, you see,” continued the captain, 
when, with a refinement of cruelty, he had allowed 
the prisoner to try his utmost. “ Your last words to 
them have been spoken. Have you anything more 
to say to me before you die?” 

“ Wretch, I would see a priest. Would you have 
me die unshriven?” 

“ Ay, that would I. My vengeance would pur- 
sue you in the next world even as in this. I will 
not even give your body burial. I will shoot you 
down like a dog, then your worthless carcase shall 
be tossed over the cliff, carrion for the vultures to 
peck at.” 

‘‘And my son, my son?” cried the unhappy 
man, in heartrending tones. 

“ Have no fear. Your son shall go free; it suits 
my purpose better. When, as the head of his house, 
he has given me his sister in marriage, he shall 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE BEGINS, 


55 


leave the camp unharmed; I swear it. What may 
happen to him after, you best know, from my 
knowledge of his uncle I scarce think he is likely 
to inherit. Cheated of his bride and his bride’s 
dowry, monsieur your brother may seek to con- 
sole himself with Suresne instead. Ah, that touches 
you! It is so true you know, and he will be your 
son’s guardian. You do not seem very pleased, yet, 
after all, ’tis but a fair return. You robbed me at 
one blow of bride, home, and name. For the bride, 
I console myself with your daughter; my home is 
here; my name — such as it is, such as you have 
made it — I give to her.” 

“ Devil, have you no mercy, not mercy enough 
to let her die by my side? ” 

My master laughed aloud. 

Not I. I promise myself many happy hours 
with my fair young bride. But ’tis time we made 
an end of this, the priest comes, the marriage hour 
is at hand; my only grief is that you cannot live 
to' see it. Unfortunately, if I waited I should lose 
part of my vengeance, you would cheat me out of 
the pleasure of killing you. Unbind his arms, 
knaves, and set him against the wall yonder; so, 
that will do, let him stand alone. Now, Monsieur 
le Marquis, your last hour has come.” 

There were loud cries for Jean, and those near- 
est pushed me forward. I know not to this day 
whether I could have killed him; happily I was 
spared the decision. The captain thrust me aside 
with an oath. 

“ Back, boy, this is not for you, ’tis a pleasure 
reserved for myself.” Then raising his musket he 


56 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


levelled it at the marquis, who, making one last 
effort, stood fearlessly erect. Thrice the captain 
took aim, and each time just as we expected him 
to fire, he lowered the piece again and spoke cruel 
taunting words to his enemy. But my lord said 
no more, he only waved his hand once to his chil- 
dren; and the demoiselle, still unfaltering, waved 
hers in return. The boy saw nothing. His sister’s 
arm pressed him close to her side, his face was 
hidden in her gown. Nor did the demoiselle shrink 
even when her father fell, as presently he did, pierced 
to the heart with a bullet. She only clasped the 
boy tighter with both hands, as if she would defend 
his life with hers. 

‘‘ Good, good,” muttered the captain, who had 
looked for a moment her way, “ I think the rest of 
my task will be easy. Are you dead yet, dog?” 
and he kicked the body with his foot. 

This also the demoiselle saw. 

Two or three of the men, anxious to please, hur- 
ried forward to dispose of the dead marquis in the 
usual fashion ; but the captain waved them off threat- 
eningly. 

“Back, knaves!” he cried. “You were not so 
pressing when blows were passing down below.” 
And raising the body himself, he bore it by his own 
unaided strength to the cliff, cast it over, and stood 
watching as it bounded from crag to crag, until, a 
bruised and mangled mass, it was lost to view. 
Then, and then only, was the first part of his venge- 
ance sated, and he turned with renewed zest to com- 
plete it. 

All this the demoiselle had watched from her 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE BEGINS. 


57 


point of vantage, gazing with wide open eyes as if 
fascinated by horror. Without sound or cry she 
had watched ‘every detail of the dismal tragedy, her 
one conscious action being to shield the boy. Poor 
lady, her time had now come. 


5 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THE captain’s VENGEANCE COMPLETED. 

After a few words with Gottlieb, the captain 
seated himself upon the bench where he judged the 
prisoners, and called for Mademoiselle de Suresne 
and the others to be brought before him. Hard 
by was an upright beam, where many a poor wretch 
had been hung, and here two ropes were now being 
made ready — for the notary and the tutor I con- 
cluded at once. They were to be hung, not shot, so 
that it would be no affair of mine. I was not to 
gain my freedom this time, and I was not sorry. 

I was faint-hearted still. The captain’s blood- 
thirsty revenge had sickened me. The brigands 
stood around in a semi-circle, as was their wont, 
eager for any deed of cruelty, and presently into 
the midst of them stepped the four prisoners. 
Mademoiselle de Suresne walked first, holding her 
brother by the hand. The boy clung to her skirts 
and impeded her footsteps, causing her at times to 
stumble; save for that she held herself erect as a 
queen, and faced us all undauntedly. It was mar- 
vellous to see such forced composure in one so 
young. The tutor followed at a little distance, walk- 
ing with difficulty, for he also had been wounded; 

58 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED. 59 

then came the notary shaking in every limb. This 
last, however, was put out of the circle at once; 
the captain gave a short order and he was taken 
away again. There remained only the three, and I 
noticed with dismay that the man fingering the rope 
stood ominously close to the demoiselle. 

But now the captain began to speak, and, ad- 
dressing the lad as Monsieur le Marquis, command- 
ed him sternly to raise his head. I do not think 
either of them understood at first; the boy never 
moved, and the demoiselle looked around vaguely 
as if in search of her murdered father. A second 
command, spoken this time in a voice of thunder, 
effectually roused her. She whispered in her broth- 
er’s ear, and, unloosing his grasp, made him ad- 
vance a pace forwards. 

“ Monsieur le Marquis de Suresne,” repeated 
the captain, “ I have the honour to be the first to 
salute you by your new title,” and, rising, he took 
off his hat and bowed with such a flourish of mock 
courtesy, that the feathers in it swept the ground. 
Then putting on a look that had daunted many, he 
cried sternly, “ Monsieur le Marquis, yon shot you 
heard just now sent your father to feed the vul- 
tures, have you aught to say why you should not 
follow him? ” 

The boy sank upon his knees and howled for 
mercy. He was but young, it is true, still he seemed 
to have not a spark of courage in him. 

“ Rise, my lord,” continued the captain, with a 
contemptuous air. “ It would be a sin, methinks, 
to rob France of such a brave youth. If you go 
on as you have begun, your king will have reason 


6o 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


to be proud of you. Fear nothing; I have no wish 
to hurt you, your fate is in your own hands. I 
would be your friend, nay, more than your friend, 
your brother,” and he laughed and chuckled with 
amusement. “ Rise, sir, I say, and we will treat as 
equals, man to man.” 

The boy rose to his feet and gazed around him 
fearfully. 

“ I do not like this place,” he whimpered. “ If 
you are my friend, let me go; I want my servants, 
my own people, I do not want to stay here.” 

“ Exactly so. Monsieur le Marquis. These 
rough dogs are no fit attendants for a great noble. 
Your people — those who took to their heels, at 
least — have halted, I doubt not, at the village below ; 
if we can come to terms you shall be conducted to 
them in safety.” 

“ If it is money you want, I am rich; I can pay 
a large ransom,” said the young lord, a little more 
boldly. “ If my father is dead, as you say, every- 
thing is mine; is it not so, Edmee? Is it not so. 
Monsieur Anleye? ” and he turned towards his sister 
and the tutor. 

The old gentleman began to speak, but the cap- 
tain silenced him roughly. The demoiselle only 
bowed her head; she did not take her eyes off my 
master. I think she doubted much what was com- 
ing. Then the captain answered the boy’s words 
with: 

“ Nay, Monsieur le Marquis, there can be no 
question of ransom, believe me. This is an affair 
between gentlemen, nothing to do with money. 
But I suppose you do not know; permit me to 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED, 6l 


introduce myself ” — and he rose again — I am 
Rene Auguste, Baron de Riancourt, at your serv- 
ice. My birth is noble as your own, my family more 
ancient. I was once robbed of my destined bride, 
for years I mourned her loss, but time has softened ^ 
my grief. I am desirous now, with your permission, 
to ally myself to your honourable family. Monsieur 
le Marquis ” — with another sweeping bow — “ give 
me mademoiselle, your sister, to wife, and you shall 
go free.” 

There was a slight murmur of applause among 
the men, at once repressed by the captain. They 
were in the best of tempers. Their double share 
of the booty had quite made up for the hard knocks ; 
they were enjoying the scene mightily. 

The demoiselle shivered and shrank back a little, 
the only sign she gave of having heard. I do not 
think she took the project seriously. 

The mildness of the captain’s manner, the hope 
of release, had somewhat restored the young lord’s 
self-possession, and for a short time the instincts of 
his race held sway over him. Returning the cap- 
tain’s bow with an air that showed he had been well 
taught, he said, with more dignity than I thought 
was in him: 

“Monsieur le Baron, you do us great honour; 
unfortunately, what you ask is impossible; Made- 
moiselle de Suresne is even now on her way to be 
given in marriage to a cousin.” 

My master smiled grimly. “ On her way, yes ; 
but no vows have passed, I trow; I much fear me 
that marriage will come to naught. The lady is 
not even formally betrothed. I know all about it, 


62 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


you see. Should you think fit to give your sister 
to another, there is nothing to prevent it. You 
are head of the family, the matter rests solely with 
you. Your notary is at hand to draw up the con- 
tract, a priest to pronounce the marriage blessing 
is even now waiting; afterwards you may go free.’’ 

“ Monsieur le Baron de Riancourt,” and the boy 
still spoke firmly, though his lips were beginning 
to tremble, “ I am sorry to appear discourteous, but 
I must repeat I regret I am compelled to decline 
the honour of your alliance.” Then suddenly turn- 
ing with some petulance to his sister, “ Edmee, why 
do you not help me; why do you not assure Mon- 
sieur le Baron that what he asks is impossible?” 

The captain checked him at once. “ Not at all, 
monsieur, we will not trouble the lady yet. It 
would be contrary to good manners to press my 
suit upon her before obtaining your permission. 
You refuse? ” 

“Decidedly, monsieur; it is too great an hon- 
our,” and forgetting himself for a moment the lad’s 
lips curled in scorn. 

The captain raised his hand. In an instant a 
rope was round the boy’s neck, and he was drawn, 
struggling and shrieking, towards the beam. 

“ Edmee, save me, save me! ” he wailed in tones 
of agony. 

The demoiselle uttered a loud scream, and, rush- 
ing to his side, flung her arms about him. “ You 
cowards, you cowards I ” she cried, her pale face 
crimson with wrath. “ You poor, pitiful cowards, 
to torture thus a helpless boy.” 

“ Pardon, mademoiselle,” returned the captain, 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED. 63 

“ it is his own doing. I really have no wish to hurt 
him, but it is necessary he should be taught reason. 
I think, perhaps, one lesson will suffice, afterwards 
it will rest with you. Loose the rope, knave, but 
do not take it from my lord’s neck, for it may be 
needed again. Stay, though, that the young gentle- 
man may know we are in earnest; string me up 
the other. Let him see what it means to be hanged.” 

The tutor gave a hoarse cry as the rope was 
flung over him; next moment he was dangling 
from the beam, his face contorted and black, his 
limbs twitching convulsively. As he swung to and 
fro in his death agony, the boy watched him as if 
spell-bound, until he almost swooned with horror. 
Then the captain took up the word again: 

“ Monsieur le Marquis, what do you say to me 
now? Once more I have the honour to demand 
of you the hand of Mademoiselle de Suresne.” 

“ Edmee, what am I to do? You could not let 
me die like that,” and he sobbed aloud. 

The demoiselle put her arm around him; then, 
turning to the captain, she said calmly: 

“ Monsieur, has not this jest been carried far 
enough? ” 

“ It is no jest, fair lady, but deadly earnest, as 
you will find to your cost if you cross me; I never 
jest on such matters. You will become my wife, 
with your brother’s consent and your own, or he 
hangs on the beam like yon carrion. Believe me, 
there is no other way out of it. But ’tis for him to 
decide first. Marquis of Suresne, for the last time, 
will you give me your sister to wife?” And the 
rope was pulled a little tighter. 


64 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


“ I will, I will,” he shrieked, tearing at it fran- 
tically. “ Edmee, you promised to care for me al- 
ways; you swore to my mother, you have told me 
so often, you cannot let me die now! ” 

The demoiselle gazed into my master’s face as 
if even now she could not believe he was in earnest, 
a look which cut me to the heart, it was so pitiful. 
At sight of her all my old feelings, the hopes and 
aspirations I had so long forgotten, came back to 
me; I would have given my life to save her. Yet 
what could I do? I was less than the meanest 
among them, I dared not even let them see I was 
sorry for her; and yet it was a sight to move the 
hardest when that proud young girl, humbling her- 
self to the dust, went down on her knees to crave 
for mercy. Alas! the man to whom she knelt knew 
not the’ meaning of the word, only it pleased him 
to see her at his feet, and he dallied and paltered 
to keep her there. She perceived his aim at length, 
and, rising with an air of disdain, as if vexed with 
herself for having stooped so low, went back to her 
place beside her brother. 

• “ Louis, be brave,” she said softly. “ Remember 
what our father always taught us; death is better 
than dishonour. I will not leave you, we will die 
together.” 

There was another slight pull to the rope— 
Gottlieb had his hand upon it now — and the boy 
screamed : 

“ I do not want to die, I am marquis now, it is 
your place to obey me. You are only a woman, 
you must marry as I say.” 

“ Louis, look up, play the man for once; re- 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED. 65 

member you are a Suresne. Look up, I say, and 
tell me what is on that hand, on the hand of the 
man you would have me marry.” 

The boy looked. We all looked. No one had 
noticed it before; but the captain’s right hand was 
deeply stained with blood, which he must have ac- 
quired when lifting his victim. 

“ It is our father’s blood, Louis,” the demoi- 
selle continued, “ and it is not yet dry. I would 
throw myself from the cliff rather than marry 
him.” 

The captain made another sign. He was fast 
losing patience; besides, I think the incident of the 
bloodstain nettled him. He was vexed with him- 
self for not having removed it, vexed with the girl 
for perceiving it. Anyhow, the rope was drawn to 
some purpose this time, and the boy was lifted off 
his feet, shrieking to his sister to save him. 

The poor demoiselle clung to him while she 
could, but when, regardless of her cries and tears, 
she was dragged away, she rushed once more to the 
captain, and throwing herself upon the ground 
clasped his knees. 

“ Take my life for his, I give it freely, but spare, 
oh, spare the helpless boy! ” 

“ Will you be my wife? ” 

“ I cannot, I cannot! ” and she wrung her hands 
in despair. “ My father’s blood is between us, he 
would curse me from his grave.” 

The boy’s cries came fainter and fainter, as if 
he were choking. 

“ Ask me anything but that,” she cried in agony. 
“ Ask me to wed the vilest and meanest of your 


66 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


band and I will do it; but not you, not you, not 
the murderer of my father.” 

The captain laughed aloud — a laugh partly to 
conceal his mortification. He had made a mistake; 
he should not have allowed her to witness her fa- 
ther’s death. But he was not baffled yet. 

“ Say you so, fair lady? ” and he laughed again. 

Then I will put you to the test, I will give you 
one more chance. Ho, there, let the young 
lord down, and come you here, Jean the horse- 
boy.” 

I came to the front trembling in every limb, 
yet resolved to be torn to pieces rather than do 
one hurt to the demoiselle. A pretty figure I was 
to stand before a noble lady. Bare-armed and bare- 
legged, my clothes hanging about me in rags, my 
long hair matted with dirt, I looked as bad a rufflan 
as the worst of them. I was abashed to be called 
at all. When I heard the captain’s purpose my wits, 
I think, quite left me; in all that followed afterwards 
I acted as in a dream. 

“ Behold ! my lady,” the captain said, pointing 
his finger towards where I stood. “ This is our 
meanest, Jean the horse-boy, who kennels in the 
stables, a no-man’s brat, a waif I picked from the 
gutter, and a coward to boot. What say you, will 
you join your fortunes to his? Will you accept him 
as your husband? ’Tis he or I; time is pressing, 
choose between us speedily.” 

The demoiselle cast upon me one glance of in- 
expressible disgust, then turned away as if she could 
not bear the sight. 

“ Edmee, Edmee!” once more wailed the boy. 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED. 67 

and his voice was faint and low as if his strength 
were leaving him. 

The poor lady turned again quickly. “ Be it so, 
I accept him. For my brother’s life I will do 
even this. He is to go free, to quit your camp 
at once — yet how can I tell you will keep your 
word?” 

“ Be easy, mademoiselle, I always keep my word, 
even to my own hurt, as when I promised your 
father not to wed you against your will.^ Directly 
the bonds are fast tied your brother shall depart 
unharmed to rejoin his friends. But bethink you. 
Demoiselle of Suresne ” — and he made a step for- 
ward and held out his hand — “ bethink you once 
more before you decide. I am your equal in birth; 
if you married me you would live in yonder tower 
and be treated as a queen, not a man of them durst 
cast a bold look at you. As wife of the horse-boy ” 
— and he shrugged his shoulders — “ I should hardly 
take trouble to protect you then.” 

Alas ! he had again forgotten that accusing stain. 
It was plain on his hand still, and she turned away 
with a shiver. 

“ I choose the horse-boy. Afterwards I can but 
die.” These last words were breathed rather than 
spoken, only I, who was close beside her, caught 
the sense of them. * 

“ Very good, fair lady,” returned the captain, 
with one of his dreadful smiles, “ though I think it 
will not be long before you regret it. Now bring 
forth master notary and his ink-horn. He is to 
draw up a second contract word for word as the 
one he has with him, save only the name and pos- 


68 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


sessions of the bridegroom. And, mind you, my 
fine fellow,” as the trembling man of law was 
dragged into his presence, “ not a word too little 
or too much, not a word that would render the 
contract void, or I send you to feed the vultures. 
Stay, though, I have forgotten one thing, and that 
not the least important. Monsieur le Marquis, come 
hither. Nay, do not remove his necklace, a squeeze 
may still be needed. Monsieur, I regret to say that 
as mademoiselle, your sister, is unwilling to receive 
me as a suitor, I resign, albeit reluctantly, my pre- 
tensions to her hand. Another gentleman has been 
more fortunate in winning her favour. As his near- 
est friend I pray you now to bestow your sister upon 
Jean the horse-boy. It is not an alliance to be proud 
of, truly; but ’tis the lady will have it so. Perhaps 
’tis Jean’s blue eyes. See how he is staring, as if 
he could not believe his good fortune.” Then drop- 
ping his mockery — “ Now, boy, do you consent, 
ay or no? ” 

“ I consent,” answered the boy, trembling all 
over, and his shaking hand stole up to the rope. 

“ You hear, master notary? Draw up your 
paper quickly. When it is ready Monsieur le Mar- 
quis and the bride and bridegroom will sign and 
seal it. Come, Jean, do not look so startled, you 
have won a fair bride and a noble inheritance, you 
will be a rich man if only you live to take posses- 
sion,” and there was a smile on his face that boded 
me small good. 

I looked down. I dared not meet his eyes, 
dreading lest he should discover the horror and 
loathing he had at last aroused in me. For much 


THE CAPTAIN'S VENGEANCE COMPLETED, 69 

as I hated him I feared him still more. I was too 
thoroughly cowed not to keep silence. 

Whilst the notary was writing, Mademoiselle de 
Suresne knelt by the side of her brother, fondling 
and calming him as if he were a child. Yet, now 
and again her head drooped, her lips faltered, and 
I heard her pray brokenly for strength to endure 
to the end. 

I still remained close beside her. I dared not 
move from where I had been ordered to stand; 
but after that one glance she never looked at me. 

Presently the notary ceased for a moment from 
his scratching, and, looking up, said, “ Jean, Jean 
what? There must be a second name?” 

The captain laughed aloud. “ Nay, a no-man’s 
brat he, his cradle the gutter, his shelter my stables. 
Jean, varlet, hast thou a second name? ” 

“ Write me down Jean, son of John of Strath- 
bourne,” I returned, making a vain effort to gather 
my courage together. 

“And who may he be, pray?” 

“ I know not, but he was my father.” 

“ ’Tis a wise child that knows its own father. It 
sounds English; some drunken trooper maybe, 
quartered for a time in your mother’s village. Set 
it down, master notary, set it down; ’twill do as 
well as another. We shall need your signature, 
Jean, son of John of Strathbourne. Canst write?” 

I shook my head. 

“ It would have been strange if you could. You 
will make a cross the same as your betters.” 

When the time came for the contract to be 
signed, the demoiselle rose, impassive as a statue, a 


70 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


bearing she maintained to the end. She wrote her 
name in the place pointed out to her; I made my 
mark; the young marquis signed; and the captain 
and Gottlieb, and Antonio of Milan all set their 
names as witnesses. When all was done my master 
rolled up the paper and gave it into my hands, 
saying, “ This is yours, keep it for the present until 
it is needed to claim your wife’s fortune. Here is 
money to put on the book for the priest’s dues, 
everything shall be in order,” and he gave me a 
handful of gold. “ We need nothing now but the 
rings. Bring the one the merchant gave you, ft 
shall be your gift to the bride; the lady has one, I 
see, upon her finger still, which will serve for you. 
Go fetch it and come quickly to the chapel.” 

I obeyed without a word, struck helpless with 
fear, such a spell had that dread man cast upon me. 

After that all was quickly over. I stood in the 
chapel beside the noble demoiselle, we repeated the 
words they told us, I took her hand in mine, we 
exchanged rings — though, indeed, hers was so small 
it would not go over the joint of my finger, and I 
lost it very soon afterwards. Nothing happened, 
no miracle from Heaven came to prevent such a 
shameful wrong; Edmee of Suresne was the wife of 
Jean the horse-boy. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MY BRIDE. 

Directly the ceremony was at an end, my mas- 
ter, with one of his horrible chuckling laughs, cried 
loudly : 

“ Madame, allow me to be the first to congratu- 
late you; your husband is a happy man. Jean the 
horse-boy, kiss your bride,” whilst the others took 
up the cry, “Vive Jean! Vive the happy couple! 
Jean, be not bashful, kiss your bride.” 

For the first time since she had entered the 
chapel the demoiselle lifted her head and gazed at 
us steadily. 

I cannot explain what there was in her look, but 
for the first time I began to realise something of 
what I had done, and even the captain quailed. To 
cover his confusion he laughed again, then turned 
away, roughly ordering the men to get the horses 
ready for the travellers. 

“ For our Jean must have a holiday to-day, is it 
not so?” recovering his self-possession. “We will 
have a great feast in honour of this happy bridal.” 
Meantime, the demoiselle was kneeling again beside 
her brother, in such an agony of grief that even the 


71 


72 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


brigands for a time respected it. They spared her 
their rude jests, and went about their business in 
silence. 

The. next event was the departure of the young 
marquis. Everything of value was taken from him. 
His rich dress, his jewelled cap, even his leathern 
riding boots, and he was given a coarse garb that 
once had clothed a peasant. This indignity seemed 
to trouble him more than parting from his sister. 
He manifested little grief, only assuring her again 
and again he would soon return with a troop of 
men-at-arms to rescue her. “ As for the marriage,” 
I heard him whisper, “ she need not trouble. If 
’twas a real priest, his uncle would send to Rome, 
it would be made naught.” 

“ It would be naught very soon,” she echoed, be- 
coming more calm as the moment of his departure 
approached. “ And, Louis — if we never meet again 
— remember, as you grow older, you must become 
more brave, you must not allow bad men to frighten 
you.” She clung to him for a second, kissing his 
cheeks, his lips, his brow — then stood aside as he 
departed with never a look behind him. At the 
head of the zig-zag he was blindfolded, and she 
watched him afterwards down the path, bending 
forward to catch the very last glimpse; whilst I, 
mindful of her last words, drew closer and closer to 
her side. The cliff was so near at hand, it would 
be so easy to cast herself down. I need not have 
feared; she remembered her brother still. The boy 
was not yet in safety, he was not yet out of the 
brigands’ hands. The notary went with them, he 
had bought his life by his labours, the priest went 


A/y BRIDE. 


73 

also; the demoiselle was alone with the Thousand 
Devils. 

The poor lady gazed until the last winding of 
the path hid her brother from sight; then, without 
a word or cry, she fell prostrate to the earth. She 
was not unconscious, that mercy was denied her, 
only her strength was spent and gone. 

The brigands gathered round, some laughing, 
some curious, a few even a little compassionate, 
but I waved them back fiercely. My courage had 
come to me at last, I felt as if I could defy them 
all. This unhappy lady, this noble demoiselle, whose 
finger-tips I was not worthy to touch — they had 
given me a right to protect her — I would save her 
or I would die. 

“ Back ! ” I cried ; “ the captain has given her to 
me, to me, not one of you shall touch her.” 

The captain was looking on, amused by my 
sudden self-assertion, yet with a devilish gleam in 
his bloodshot eyes. 

“ The boy is right,” he said carelessly. “ Let 
him alone for the present, afterwards we will see. 
Take her to your kennel, hound; keep her out of 
harm’s way until the bridal feast is ready. No 
dallying near the cliff, mind; your life shall answer 
for her safety. Madame shall queen it at the feast 
to-night, we will drink deep in honour of the bride 
and bridegroom.” 

There was a roar of applause, and, before it sub- 
sided, I raised the demoiselle in my arms and 
sought to carry her away. She would have resisted. 
She shrank from my touch as if it had been pollu- 
tion; yet she had no strength left to struggle. 

6 


74 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

“ Trust me, I am a friend,” I whispered in her 
ear. 

“ A friend, you ! ” and she looked at me with 
eyes filled with deadly fear. “ Let me go, let me 
go! ” But I only clasped her the tighter. 

Once within my hut, once out of sight of those 
villains, I knew I should be able to save her. Only 
one moment of danger, I thought — as we climbed 
upwards to the cliff — and we might be far away 
before they even missed us. And so it might have 
been, there was nothing to hinder, save the ob- 
stinacy of the demoiselle herself. Had she done as 
I wished she might have been on her way to rejoin 
her brother that night. 

Directly we were within the hut she struggled 
to her feet, and this time I did not prevent her. 
Only I closed the door and made it fast, that no 
one might come within. None had dared follow 
us after the captain’s words; still, it was just as 
well to make sure. Then I turned to the demoiselle 
eager to unfold my plan. She had retreated to the 
farthest corner, where, from behind a rude bench 
I had made to serve as table, she stood looking at 
me defiantly. 

“ Mademoiselle de Suresne, I am a friend,” I 
said softly, trying to reassure her. “ I would serve 
you; I would not harm a hair of your head.” 

She made no answer, save by that one steady 
look of proud defiance. 

“ Mademoiselle, I swear it. I beg of you to be- 
lieve me.” 

Then she spoke. “ If you be my friend, leave 
me; go, never let me see your face again.” 


MY BRIDE. 


75 


I shook my head. “ For your own sake, Made- 
moiselle, I dare not; others might take my place 
who would treat you with less courtesy. I can do 
better than leave you, I can help you to escape. 
Hear me now.” 

Her eyes lit up, she listened eagerly; but before 
I had half finished I could see her hopes had fallen 
again. Indeed, her look grew so incredulous, so 
scornful, that I stopped abruptly, saying: 

“ You do not believe me? ” 

“ Not one word. How should I? ” 

How should she, indeed? What reason had she 
to trust me? 

Then to show I meant well, I spoke of that in- 
cident in the past; reminded her of the peasant boy 
who had saved her life. 

“ What of it? ” she cried, though I could see she 
was somewhat taken by surprise. 

“ I am that boy,” I answered. “ I am Jean who 
once lived with the Widow Desfougeres. I helped 
you then, will you not trust me to help you out of 
a worse peril now? ” 

“ You, you, that boy — and you have turned to 
this? Truly, I think it would have been better had 
Mere Marie left you to perish by the roadside where 
she found you.” 

“ Perhaps it would,” I answered sharply, begin- 
ning to lose patience; we were wasting valuable 
time. “ But since she did not, since I stand here 
alive before you, will you not believe that at least 
I would be your friend? ” 

'' My friend ! — you ! Brigand ! churl ! you dare 
to call yourself my friend? You forget to whom 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


76 

you are speaking. Had you been my friend, 
would you have taken part in that mockery just 
now? ” 

“ How could I help myself? ” I retorted sullenly. 
“ If not I, it would have been another. Besides, I 
was afraid. I dared not disobey him.” 

“ Then you are a coward.” 

“ Ay, an you will ; he told you so himself. Any 
way, I am afraid of the captain. Mademoiselle de 
Suresne, for the last time — I will not ask you any 
more — will you trust yourself to me? — will you fly 
this place while you can?” 

“ Never, not with you. If your wild story be 
true, let me escape by myself; I may believe in 
your friendship then.” 

“ It is impossible. You could not scale the 
cliff alone, and afterwards you would but wander 
in the woods, and perish miserably. "Twould 
be more merciful to cast you over the cliff at 
once.” 

“ Were I outside I would save you the trouble.” 

I took no notice of this, and only repeated, “ You 
will not come, then?” 

“No! a thousand times no!” and she stamped 
her foot. “ Cannot you understand that I do not 
believe one word, that I loathe and abhor you, 
that if I could I would strike you dead where you 
stand ? ” 

Then, her short-lived passion exhausted, she 
burst into a storm of tears. 

I said no more; there seemed nothing left for 
me to say, though, in truth, I was inwardly raging. 
To have safety so near at hand, and to lose it for 


AfV BRIDE. 


77 


such folly. I would have served her so faithfully, 
and yet she would not trust me. Had she been a 
woman of my own kind I would have gripped her 
by the shoulder and shaken her until her senses 
came; to the Demoiselle of Suresne I could do 
nothing. I was too angry to make allowances for 
her terrible position ; it seemed to me sheer foolish- 
ness. After this there fell a strange silence between 
us, I standing at my old post beside the door, 
mademoiselle in the far corner watching my slight- 
est movement. 

By that time it began to grow dusk. It was still 
light outside, but in my little hut, lighted only by 
the hole in the roof, the shadows soon thickened. 
It was the demoiselle who first broke the silence. 
I had made up my mind I would not be the first 
to speak. It might have been cruel, I think it was, 
but I did not know how to deal with fine ladies. 
The silence and the darkness together, I fancy, 
rather daunted the lady’s courage, for presently she 
began gently: 

“ Monsieur Jean, I am sorry ” 

“ I am no monsieur,” I interrupted rudely ; I 
am plain Jean the horse-boy.” 

“Jean, I wish to ask your pardon; I did not 
mean what I said just now.” 

“ That you did not believe me? ” 

“ No, no, that is, of course; but I did not really 
wish to strike you dead. I spoke in my passion. 
I pray you to forgive me.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive, mademoiselle; it is 
not for you to ask my pardon. I am only sorry 
you will not trust me.” 


78 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


‘‘ Yes, I do, a little, now. If you are my friend, 
as you say, give me the knife you carry in your 
belt.” 

I hesitated. To what purpose? Will you 
promise not to harm yourself with it? ” 

“ Certainly not,” and she grew angry again. “ A 
gentleman, a friend, even, would have complied 
without question. You behave like the churl you 
are, and yet would have me trust you ! ” 

Once more I was silent, and the shadows length- 
ened until I could scarce distinguish her face. I 
was rather surprised we had been left alone so long. 
I could only suppose the brigands were making 
such great preparations they were not ready for us. 
Still, I knew their coming could not be delayed 
much longer; after all, why should she not have 
the knife.” 

“ Noble lady, I was wrong,” I said. “ We shall 
be called to the feast presently. I am only the 
horse-boy, I have no power to protect you. There 
is the knife, or, if it please you better — since you 
prefer death to freedom — just behind where you 
stand is the cliff. I can move the stones, then one 
spring and all will be over.” 

“ Move them quickly, then,” clutching at the 
knife, and hiding it in her dress as she spoke, “ it 
is a pity you did not think of it before.” 

I obeyed without more words, and had opened a 
small space, when, a sudden thought striking me, 
I said, still working on, “ I suppose you understand, 
mademoiselle, that if you cast yourself down I must 
follow your example?” 

“ Why so? What has my fate to do with 


MV BRIDE, 


79 

yours? ” and there was a ring of the old scorn in 
her voice. 

“ You heard what the captain said — my life was 
to answer for yours.” 

“ You can escape by this wonderful way you 
spoke of just now. If it is all that you say you will 
have no trouble.” 

I threw away the last stone. The way was 
open. 

“ I follow you, lady. I am a churl it is true, but 
I could not do that; I should feel a coward all my 
life after.” 

“ It is folly, I am nothing to you, nothing at all,” 
she persisted. 

I saw what was in her mind. She imagined I 
was claiming some right to her, taking advantage 
of that cruel mockery in the chapel, and I did not 
know what words to use to set her right. 

“ Mademoiselle de Suresne,” I cried desperately, 
what is the use of my answering you. What is 
the use of my speaking at all, when you refuse to 
believe a word? You are to me as you have ever 
been, the Seigneur’s daughter, the noble demoiselle 
of the chateau. There can be nothing between us, 
save the greatest reverence on one side, a gracious 
condescension — such as it pleased you once to show 
me in days long ago — on the other. Nothing else 
is possible, how should it be? Believe me or not, 
as you will, it is the truth.” 

The demoiselle was silent for a space, then, com- 
ing to my side, she put her hand in mine. “Jean, 
I will trust you, take me where you will.” I held 
it fast and signed to her to listen. A party of the 


8o 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


brigands were making their way towards us, shout- 
ing out a ribald song in notice of their approach. 

“Too late, too late! ” I almost screamed, I was 
so savage at such senseless delay. If she meant to 
go at all why not at first when there would have 
been no difficulty? “ Five minutes, three minutes 
ago, and we might have managed it. Now 

Yet, even while I was speaking, I pushed her 
aside, and scrambling like a squirrel to the roof, 
dragged down the rope through the hole. Well 
was it for us that we had not to go outside. The 
voices came nearer, they were singing loud as they 
could bawl, but as yet we in the hut were screened 
from sight by an angle of the ruined buildings. 

“ Mademoiselle,"” I cried breathlessly, “ if, in- 
deed, you mean to trust me you must do exactly as 
I say. Put your arms about my neck and keep your 
eyes shut close; whatever happens, whatever you 
may hear, do not open them.” My dread was that 
as we neared the height she might turn giddy and 
fall. “ Promise me this and we will chance it.” 

“ I promise on one condition, that you will let 
me die rather than fall into the hands of those 
wicked men.” 

“ That is very simple. I have but to let go and 
we shall be dashed to pieces. Quick now, clasp 
me tight,” and, fearing to trust only to her slight 
hold, I wound the lower rope round and round us. 
“ Now shut your eyes and hold fast, and may 
Heaven have mercy upon us both.” 

It was a risk indeed; I made sure they would 
see us, and if they fired we were lost. Even if they 
missed, I was quite certain, did the captain know 


MY BRIDE. 


8 


the way we were gone, he would find means to 
follow us. 

Burdened as I was, I could not mount very fast, 
and I had scarce emerged from the shelter of the 
hut when the men came full in view. The demoi- 
selle heard, though she could not see them, I felt 
her shudder from head to foot. 

“ Have no fear,” I muttered in her ear. “ It may 
be death, but they shall never touch you alive.” I 
had only to give the rope a jerk and we were over 
the abyss. 

They seemed tipsy already by the noise they 
made, and I waited, with my head just above the 
roof, until they gathered round the door. Happily 
there were not many, not more than about half-a- 
dozen — Gottlieb and some others sent to summon 
us. Thank Heaven the captain did not come him- 
self ; our chance then would have been small indeed. 

Directly they reached the door Gottlieb struck 
upon it with his fist, calling me with a drunken 
laugh, to come forth. His companions gathered 
around listening eagerly, and, at once taking ad- 
vantage of their attention being thus engaged, I 
began to climb upwards with all speed. I strained 
every nerve to get away, but the demoiselle weighed 
me down, and my very anxiousness, I think, made 
me slower. I kept missing the loops I had made 
for foothold. 

Gottlieb waited a few moments; then one rough 
kick sent my poor door flying, and they rushed 
in. It was the hole in the wall that saved us. At 
the same time they saw that the hut was empty; 
they saw I had removed the stones, and their ex- 


82 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


clamations of dismay, their oaths and curses, came 
up to us only too plainly. 

The demoiselle shivered, but I whispered her 
that all was going well, and as they scattered along 
the edge of the abyss, throwing themselves flat upon 
the ground to peer over, we swayed backwards and 
forwards above their heads. Two or three rushed 
off, without a look behind, to summon the captain. 
We crept higher and higher; then at last, and not 
a moment too soon, we were at the top. I clutched 
at the roots of the old tree and rolled over on to 
firm ground. We were free. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE JOURNEY — FIRST STAGE — THE PINE WOOD. 

I QUICKLY disengaged the rope, taking care the 
while we should not be visible from below, then 
cried, joyfully, “ Safe, mademoiselle, so far, and 
now, if you do not mind taking my hand, we will 
run as fast as we can while daylight lasts. The 
captain is the devil himself, I think; he is sure to 
find the way we have gone; all we can do is to get 
a good start of him.” 

The demoiselle put her hand in mine without a 
word, and we raced along, like a couple of children, 
until we reached the pine wood. Here all went well 
for a time. I walked first, and, she following in my 
footsteps, we got over the ground quickly. Track, 
of course, there was none; but I had been over the 
ground so often — I was full of confidence — I had no 
doubt about finding the way. Alas! I had not al- 
lowed for the darkness; for now amongst the pine 
trees it was black as night. The slight familiar 
waymarks, a broken bough, a stunted bush, a fallen 
tree — by which, unwitting, I had been wont to guide 
my steps — were all obliterated. 

When the idea first dawned upon me that we 
were lost, I scouted it as impossible, for I felt sure 
83 


84 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


the edge of the forest must be near. But we still 
went on and on, until the demoiselle, I knew, was 
ready to drop with fatigue. At times we had to 
grope our way with our hands, where the trees clus- 
tered so thick we could scarce avoid running aga'nst 
them. Then would come a more open space, which 
was worse, for we had to tear a path through the 
brambles. When it came to this I knew for certain 
we were hopelessly out of the way; there was noth- 
ing for it but to wait until the moon rose. I was 
afraid to tell my companion at first, lest she should 
accuse me of deceiving her; but, much to my re- 
lief, she took the news quietly. 

“ I have thought it was so for some time,” she 
said, “ only I waited for you to speak first.” 

“ I have been through the wood a hundred 
times; by daylight I know every inch of it,” I an- 
swered, “ I pray you, noble lady, do not doubt me.” 

“ Nay, it is my own fault, I should have trusted 
you before. Yet, oh, Heavens! out of that horde 
of ruffians, how was I to know? Tell me the truth, 
do you think they will overtake us?” 

“ I think not indeed; yet, as I have said, to the 
captain everything is possible. Still, if they did 
come this way they would come with a noise and 
with torches; in the darkness we may be able to 
elude them.” 

“ And I have still the knife,” she muttered under 
her breath, “ I am not defenceless as I was.” Then 
louder, “ What do you propose to do? ” 

“ Remain where we are until the moon rises. 
Once there is a ray of light I have little fear, though 
I would have sworn I knew the path blindfolded. 


THE JOURNEY^FIRST STAGE. 85 

Will it please you to sit beneath this tree and rest 
awhile; we have far to go when we set out again.” 

The demoiselle sank to the earth almost as I 
spoke, and by that I knew how much she was 
wearied. I remained standing close by. I would 
have moved to a little distance, but the darkness was 
so black I was afraid to stir a step lest I should lose 
her. She sat very still, not a word passed between 
us; there was no sound save the murmur of a tor- 
rent in the distance, and the moaning of the wind 
among the trees. After a time, a long time it 
seemed, I could tell by the difference of her breath- 
ing that the poor young lady had fallen asleep. 
Worn out and exhausted, for a short time she for- 
got her troubles. I was most careful not to disturb 
her, but I kept a keen watch, and every now and 
then I lay down with my ear to the ground that I 
might hear if footsteps were approaching. It was 
a sure way I had learned from Jacques Tapin; you 
could detect the faintest footfall long before it drew 
near. 

The hours passed and nothing came, and at last 
the moon slowly rose, silvering the tree tops with 
brightness. With the coming of the first gleam I 
found out, to my dismay, we had been wandering in 
a circle. We had pushed our way round until we 
were quite close to the entrance to the ravine, near 
the very spot we had started from. I almost fancied 
I could hear the echo of voices from the plateau. 

The demoiselle still slept on, and as I bent over 
her, she was so motionless, for the moment I 
thought her dead. Then suddenly a happy smile 
parted her lips; she was in the midst of a pleasant 


86 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


dream. It seemed a pity to wake her, yet I dared 
not delay, and called twice, “ Mademoiselle, noble 
lady, it is time for us to go.” She' did not stir, but 
still slumbered on, so, moving to a little distance, 
I picked up a fir cone, and threw it upon her hand. 
She awoke then with a start, looked for a moment 
bewildered; then her peaceful dreams faded away, 
everything came back to her. ‘‘ Mademoiselle de 
Suresne, the moon has risen, it is time we were on 
our way,” I said respectfully. 

“ And I have been asleep, asleep? ” she mur- 
mured, as if she could hardly believe it. 

“ Ay, lady, you have slept well. Heaven be 
praised. Naught has come near to disturb us; it 
will give you strength to continue on the way. I 
know the road now, and if it so please you we will 
set off.” 

I made no more mistakes, and in due time we 
passed out of the wood and I shaped my road for 
the deserted cottage. Fortunately, I had brought 
the rope away with me, coiled over my shoulder, 
else I should scarce have got Mademoiselle down 
the cliff. But even when past that difficulty the 
path was very hard for a woman. She bore up 
bravely, and I helped her as much as I could, but 
her little shoes were soon worn away by the rough 
rocks, her feet were cut and bleeding. She made 
no complaint. I only discovered by accident that 
with every step she left traces of blood behind her. 

By the time we reached the ruined cottage, the 
moon had disappeared, the night had grown dark 
again. I had never been any farther; it was im- 
possible to 'go on; it was necessary to halt until 


THE JOURNEY-FIRST STAGE, 


87 


morning. I explained this to my companion, tell- 
ing her at the same time she would find a refuge 
within the hut whilst I watched outside. 

“ Not so, it is your turn to rest now,” she said, 
her real kindness of heart showing itself for a mo- 
ment. Could she have forgotten that unlucky cere- 
mony, could she have put from her mind the en- 
forced relationship in which we stood to each other, 
we might have travelled together as real friends — 
she would have trusted me without a word. Rest 
you,” she said, “ there is no more sleep for me to- 
night, I will stand and watch.” 

I assured her that could not be, that we were 
liable to be surprised even yet, and at last she con- 
sented to go within. I would have made a little 
fire, for the wind was chill and she had no cloak, 
but feared a glimmer of light might, perhaps, be- 
tray us. I had hoped that, in spite of the lady’s 
words, fatigue might have made her slumber again. 
Unhappily, it was not so. Through all that was 
left of that night, as I passed to and fro trying to 
keep myself warm, I could hear her low sobs as 
she wept the sad hours away. 

With the first faint streaks of daylight the demoi- 
selle opened the door, looking so pale and wan that 
Widow Desfougeres would never have recognised 
her beautiful young lady. She was in sad plight. 
Her gown was hanging in tatters, one shoe was 
gone altogether, and her long dark hair, escaped 
from its fastenings, fell down her back even to her 
waist. Yet never to me had she appeared so beau- 
tiful. The knowledge that she was under my charge, 
that I, churl as I was, had been able to be of use> 


88 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


to her in her hour of danger, that she depended 
upon me still, gave me a sense of responsibility, of 
dignity even, that I had never felt before. At any 
rate, she should not have cause to say I had failed 
her. From that hour, though I did not understand 
it at the time, my whole nature altered. I could 
never have joined the brigands now. 

I was recalled from my dreams by the demoiselle 
asking anxiously, “ Jean, is it not time we were on 
the way? ” 

“ Presently, my lady, presently. The sun has 
hardly risen yet, I would fain have more light.” 

For on every side was a vast expanse of cloud 
and mist, the valleys were full of white fog, even 
the mountains were hid from view. 

“ Meantime,” I went on, “ there is a stream hard 
by, if mademoiselle would like to bathe her wounded 

foot, and if I had the knife for a moment ” 

She handed it to me without a word, and I cut a 
broad strip from my leather jerkin, “ If my lady 
would deign to bind that around her feet for a 
time, she would be better able to travel.” Then I 
took her to the brook, and there left her, whilst I 
went to survey the path. 

The sun was rising now, and the mists beginning 
to disperse. The rosy tints touched the mountain 
peaks first, they spread over the heavens, and pres- 
ently the whole east was aflame with light. But the 
valleys were still in shadow. I could not distinguish 
that distant village, whither I had resolved to make 
my way, neither could I find any mountain track. 
Some path there must have been at one time, or 
the hut could never have been built, but all traces 


THE JOURNEY— FIRST STAGE. 


89 

of it were obliterated. All we could do was to con- 
tinue descending, and trust to Providence for the 
rest. 

When I returned for my companion I found she 
had made her toilet, as only a woman can. Her 
torn robe was drawn together, her hair — though it 
still hung about her shoulders, reminding me of the 
child I had so often watched at Suresne — was tied 
back with a strip from her dress, her feet were 
neatly bandaged and protected with the leather I 
had given her. Altogether, I thought, a fellow- 
feeling making me 'wondrous sympathetic, she 
looked quite ready for her breakfast. Unluckily, 
I had nothing to give her, and there was no possi- 
bility just then of obtaining anything. 

“ It is nothing, Jean,” she said, when I expressed 
something of my trouble. “ What matters any- 
thing so long as I am able to keep on? I drank 
of the stream and it refreshed me, I want nothing 
more; I am quite ready to continue our journey.” 

The demoiselle was obliged to accept a good 
deal of help from me now; the way was so steep, 
the foothold so precarious, and more than once we 
had to pass along some narrow ledge where the 
depths below made her dizzy. Yet she never fal- 
tered, never wished to rest; on the contrary, it was 
she who urged me onwards. We had two or three 
hours of this, and, in spite of our best endeavours, 
had made but little way, when we were brought to 
a standstill by a precipice. For the demoiselle, at 
least, it appeared impassable. It was an almost per- 
pendicular cliff, a fall of some fifty or sixty feet, 
broken only in one place by a narrow ledge on 
7 


90 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


which grew a stunted fir-tree. We had two alterna- 
tives — to attempt the perilous descent, or to try 
back for another way. 

I was much disinclined to retrace my steps, we 
should certainly lose much time, and might not 
fare any better; yet how to get down was a puzzle. 
We were still hesitating when the question was de- 
cided for us. As I peered over trying to discover 
a foothold, a thin wreath of smoke floated up to- 
wards me. No dwelling was to be seen, no sign 
of man, yet still that white smoke came curling 
upwards. I pointed it out to the demoiselle. 

“ There are people down there, they have a fire. 
See ! ” and leaning over I shouted until I was 
hoarse. 

No one appeared, and yet, after a fashion, I was 
answered; I heard the loud barking of a shepherd’s 
dog. 

“ Courage, my lady,” I cried, “ there is no going 
back now. Someone is down there; canst not hear 
the dog? And see how the smoke comes thicker 
and thicker through the cleft; be sure there is a hut 
underneath. Yet ’tis odd they do not hear. If I 
could but get you to yonder ledge I think we should 
find footing afterwards. Stay, I have it. Wait you 
here while I go down and seek assistance. It will 
be quite safe,” seeing she looked around with ap- 
prehension. “ If we had been followed we should 
have seen them before now; I would not leave you 
if I feared danger.” 

The demoiselle nodded permission; she was al- 
most too weary to speak, yet she watched me anx- 
iously as I went down, using both hands and feet, 


THE JOURNEY— FIRST STAGE. 


91 


and clinging fast to every slight projection. Once 
when a stone gave way under my foot, and rattled 
noisily to the bottom, I even heard her utter a faint 
cry. But I clung tight with my hands, and soon 
found another crevice. Yet, at that very moment, 
it flashed across me, once the demoiselle was safe, 
what a relief it would be to her to hear I had come 
to some untimely end. It would set her free at once, 
save her from all trouble and embarrassment in 
time to come. However, that had nothing to do 
with the business in hand, and now that she had 
escaped the brigands I did not mean to die a mo- 
ment before I could help it. 

When I reached the ledge I swung my cap in 
the air to show I was safe so far, then plunging 
down the cliff again soon reached the bottom. It 
was plain enough now why nothing could be seen 
from above. The upper half of the rock shelved 
outwards. From the open space where I now stood 
I could not see the summit, could see nothing of 
the demoiselle. Neither could I step farther back 
without descending again. The little valley was 
bordered by a deep ravine, traversed, I was thank- 
ful to see, from end to end by a mule track. 

In my descent I had gone far from the smoke. 
I retraced my steps now, and, rounding a corner, 
came upon a little hut and inclosure, precisely simi- 
lar to the one we had left above. Only this was 
not deserted. Sheep were in the fold, and dotted 
about the sides of the ravine; and an old man was 
bending over a fire in a sheltered nook, stirring 
something in a pot. Directly I appeared upon the 
scene a huge dog rushed forward, and attacked me 


92 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


furiously. I kept him off as well as I could, but 
I had not even a stick, and, in answer to my re- 
peated shouts, the man never once turned his head. 
A well-directed kick freed me at last, the animal re- 
treated, and I, following, presently stood by the 
shepherd’s side. 


CHAPTER XL 


SECOND STAGE THE SHEPHERD. 

The old man looked up with a start, nearly 
overthrowing his pipkin of ewe milk. 

“Why did you not answer when I called?” I 
cried angrily. 

He made no reply,' but dipping a little bowl into 
the warm milk gave me to drink. I swallowed it 
eagerly enough, then telling him we had lost our 
way, and that my mistress was waiting on the cliff 
above, I begged his help to get her down. That 
was the explanation I had decided upon if anyone 
questioned me. I was the lady’s servant, and cross- 
ing the mountains we had lost our way. The shep- 
herd looked at me for a moment as if in doubt; 
then, hurrying into his hut, came out with a small 
piece of black bread. 

“ ’Tis all I have to spare, my good lad, times are 
bad, and I have no wife to work for me. My good 
dame — Heaven rest her soul — has slept in the 
churchyard since three months were agone.” 

He took me for a beggar, that was certain; yet 
how was it he paid no attention to what I said? 
I was growing impatient. The demoiselle would 
be weary of waiting. I attempted again to tell him 
93 


94 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


what I wanted, and then the truth came out. The 
old fellow put his hand to his ear and shook his 
head. He was stone deaf and could hear nothing. 
I tried him with shouting, but it was no use, then I 
took to signs. 

With a great deal of difficulty I succeeded at 
last in making him understand I had left someone 
above; then he told me there was an easier road. 
It was some distance round; he would come and 
show me. 

The shepherd continued talking as we went, half 
to himself, half to me; sometimes shouting loud 
enough to be heard half across the ravine, some- 
times muttering so low not a word could be dis- 
tinguished. The poor old fellow could not hear 
his own voice. He spoke of many things, but 
always came back to the same — never had he 
known one to cross the mountains by this side. 
He himself had once built a hut up there, the grass 
in summer was sweet for the sheep; but that was 
many long years ago, he was too stiff to climb so 
high now. And his wife — Heaven rest her — liked 
better to dwell near the pass, sometimes, aye some- 
times even twice in the week, there would be a trav- 
eller. But this side, no never, never from this side 
had anyone come before. Thus he rambled on while 
I gave little heed, save to nod my head here and 
there where he seemed to expect it. I was looking 
out to catch the first glimpse of my companion. 
It was a far round, the old man walked slowly, and 
I was sure my long absence would make her un- 
easy. 

When at last we came in sight, the demoiselle 


SECOND STAGE^THE SHEPHERD. 


95 


was perilously near the edge of the cliff, leaning 
over to see what had become of me. I was afraid 
to call out lest she should start and fall, and waited 
almost with trembling until she drew back again. 
We were above her now, our route had taken us so 
far out of the way, and, presently signing to the 
old man to stop, I ran forward and dropped down 
by her side. 

“Safe, mademoiselle!” I cried, “and an easy 
road, and a friend, though ’tis but a poor shepherd 
who cannot hear. Come this way, and you shall 
have both rest and refreshment.” And taking her 
hand I helped her up and led her to where the old 
man was waiting for us. 

With all my pantomime I had been unable to 
convey to the old fellow’s mind that my companion 
was a woman, and his astonishment was unbounded. 
But the stupid man could not, or would not, see 
that she was a noble lady. He looked hard at us 
both, then muttered to himself : “ Not brother and 
sister? Oh no, different blood plainly. Man and 
wife? Not that either, she is carrying no burden, 
and, besides, he holds her hand. Sweethearts, of 
course, running away without going before the 
priest, I trow. Eh, lad, but you have brought her 
by a rough road.” And, pointing to the poor girl’s 
tattered dress, and wounded feet, he chuckled and 
tittered until I could have choked him. 

The demoiselle flushed scarlet, then her face 
went pale as the snow as she turned haughtily away. 
Not before, though, I could see that her eyes were 
full of tears. 

“ Mademoiselle, heed him not 1 ” I cried hastily. 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


96 

“ He is half-witted, I believe, as well as deaf. But 
he can be of use to us now, and soon you will be 
with your friends.” 

She answered nothing, but thrusting aside my 
proffered hand, followed us alone, and in silence. 

The old man meant kindly, however. Directly 
we reached his dwelling, he set before her warm 
milk and rye bread, and a piece of sour cheese. It 
was poor fare for her, but it was all he had, and he 
bestowed it upon her freely. When she had eaten 
something he took her within, fetched a great bowl 
of water to bathe her poor feet, and then came out 
and closed the door behind him. I had thrown 
myself upon the grass, for I, too, was weary; and 
presently he came and sat beside me. I paid no 
attention to him for a time; I was half asleep, and 
he rambled on at his pleasure. Then something 
in his words at last aroused me, and I set myself 
to listen. He did not know he was speaking aloud; 
he was arguing some matter with himself. 

“ ’Twould be a charity, that is true,” were the 
first words I caught properly, “ a good deed to tell 
Father Vaudin next time I go down to chapel. They 
are poor enough, that is plain, poorer even than I 
am, since she has not a cloak to cover her. Yet 
they are young, while I am old, and it is good, very 
good still, it would keep my old limbs warm when 
the winds blow. No, I cannot part with it,” and 
he was silent for a space. I looked towards the hut; 
all was quiet there, the demoiselle was resting. 

Then the old fellow broke out again. “ All the 
same though it troubles me. The girl is pretty, 
she is gentle, too; she has a manner with her like 


SECOND STAGE — THE SHEPHERD. 


97 


the great lady who spoke with my dame long ago. 
The boy must be a sad rascal. I was wrong to 
laugh at him just now. If he were but an honest 
lad ” And he turned and looked at me, his sim- 

ple face all puckered up with perplexity. It was 
evidently some very weighty matter that troubled 
him. 

I yawned, and pretended to awake. He pointed 
to the village in the distance. 

“ You are going down to Dunstano? 

I nodded. 

It is a long way, though it looks so near. Has 
your sweetheart lost her cloak on the road?” 

I made signs as if it had gone over the clif¥. He 
seemed to set such value upon a cloak I thought 
it might be as well. 

“ Ah! it is a rough road you have brought her, 
and she is young and tender. I do not understand; 
but I fear you are a bad young man; it is a sin to 
take so young a girl from her parents. If she were 
your wife now ” 

I caught his arm, and nodded vigorously; it 
seemed the only thing I could do to gain his favour. 
And I very much wanted to stand right with the 
old fellow. I had discovered an aged mule in a 
stable behind, and I wanted to borrow it for the 
demoiselle. 

“ She is your wife? You have been married to 
her before the priest? ” 

I nodded again, and then glanced somewhat ap- 
prehensively towards the hut, for the old man spoke 
loudly. Mademoiselle was standing in the door- 
way. She gave me one look, then went back and 


98 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


closed the door. Only a look, but it was enough. 
All was lost that I had gained so hardly, her short- 
lived confidence was at an end. 

The old shepherd had seen her also, and calling 
out hastily, ‘‘ Yes, I will, I will! ” he jumped to his 
feet and hobbled off, whilst I sat dumfounded, la- 
menting the hour I had cast eyes upon him. 

And all too soon I found that I had not even 
the excuse of necessity. I had that about me which 
would have bought the shepherd’s whole posses- 
sions. Chancing to put my hand into my pouch — 
not for anything I expected to find there, but sim- 
ply mechanically in my dismay — I fingered what 
felt to me like pieces of money. I drew them forth 
in surprise, scarce ever in my life had I possessed 
a sou, and here were four gold crowns. It was a 
mystery at first, then presently I guessed the truth. 
The handful of gold the captain had given me for 
the priest! I thought I had placed all on the book 
when they bade me, but these four pieces must have 
slipped through my fingers. They were very accept- 
able now, it is true; still, if I had but discovered 
them before how much they would have spared me. 

It was with a very crestfallen air that I arose, 
meaning to go and bargain with the shepherd for 
his mule. I had not taken two steps when the old 
man came back, followed by the demoiselle. He 
carried in his arms an old grey weather-beaten 
cloak of coarse cloth, just such a one as Widow 
Desfougeres used to wear when she worked in the 
fields. This he displayed to me with an air of tri- 
umph, at the same time smoothing its folds with 
something of regret. 


SECOND STAGE^THE SHEPHERD. 


99 


“Ah! you may well look,” he exclaimed. “It 
belonged to my wife, and her mother before her. 
Heaven rest their poor souls! It is a cloak worthy 
to be given as a maiden’s dowry, and yet I bestow 
it upon you. I give it because your good wife 
needs it sadly. She will have a bad name if she 
goes thus among the folk below, and she is too 
pretty to be spoke ill of. She does not wish to 
accept it, that is but right; it is a great gift, I know, 
but I give it to you partly for my soul’s sake — 
it will bring me credit above^ — and partly for your 
good dame’s bright eyes.” And he stood looking 
from one to the other of us expecting us to go into 
raptures. 

Fortunately, he thought it was the greatness of 
the gift that caused our embarrassment. After an 
awkward pause I said timidly: 

“ If mademoiselle would but deign, she might 
find it useful. He is foolish, but he means well, he 
knows no better.” 

“ He knows just what you have told him,” she 
returned scornfully. 

I spread out my hands with a deprecating ges- 
ture. “ It was a mistake. I did it for the best — 
yet I cannot explain. Trust me yet a little longer; 
believe me, I was not to blame. And mademoiselle 
need not mind accepting the cloak. I can pay for 
it; I have money I did not know of until just now. 
There is a mule in the stable, and I will buy that 
also, so we can reach the valley in a few hours.” 

“ Bid the shepherd saddle the mule, then, and 
he shall go down with me; I have no farther need 
of you. Come afterwards to my brother, the mar- 


lOO 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


quis, and he will pay you for what you have done. 
You shall have more gold than you can count, but 
we need no longer travel together.” 

I was perfectly willing to stay behind. The 
demoiselle had good reason to be angry now, and 
I guessed she would not spare me. But the old 
man, when I had, with difficulty, made him under- 
stand what we wanted, would not hear of it. He 
would not leave his sheep, not even for money. He 
had come up into the mountains in the spring, and 
there he meant to stay until the snows of winter, 
when he and his flock would go down together. 
And what did we want him for? Good lack! if 
we had quarrelled, we had better make it up again. 
Nanette, the mule, we could have and willing. It 
belonged to his wife — Heaven rest her — he had no 
further use for it; it was eating its head off. As 
for the cloak, he had already given it, a good deed 
to be set down to his account; but if, as it seemed, 
we had money, we might e’en give him what we 
chose. Yes, a gold piece would be more than 
enough for all blessings on us for a noble pair, 
adding, under the impression that he was speaking 
to himself, “I only hope it is honestly come by; 
good lack, I have my doubts, I cannot make them 
out at all.” 

Thus, much against her will, the demoiselle was 
compelled to put up with my company for a little 
longer. 


CHAPTER XIL 

LAST STAGE — THE CAVALIER. 

We set out on our way soon afterwards, Made- 
moiselle de Suresne, wrapped in the old cloak, with 
the hood drawn well over her head, so that her face 
was almost hidden, riding on the mule, whilst I 
walked beside, leading it. The track was very plain, 
and though at times steep and rocky, Nanette 
proved to be very sure-footed, and we journeyed 
without difficulty. Not a word passed between 
us for a long time. I dared not turn my head. 
After what she had heard I was ashamed to meet the 
lady’s eyes; yet, more than once, I fancied she was 
quietly weeping. 

As we approached nearer to Dunstano, people 
began to pass now and then on the way. Happily 
they gave no heed to us. A ragged peasant, a 
countrywoman riding on a mule, were common 
enough. There was nothing in our appearance now 
to excite remark. Still, it was necessary to learn 
something of the demoiselle’s wishes before pass- 
ing through the gates, for I knew nothing of the 
town, knew nothing of where to take her. Some- 
thing of this at last I faltered forth, standing bare- 
headed at her knee. 


lOI 


102 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Take me to the governor of the town. My 
name and rank will do the rest. As for you, make 
what tale you will. I have no doubt the governor 
will be able to protect me.” 

“ Mademoiselle, you wrong me, you do, indeed,” 
and, for the first time since we quitted the shep- 
herd’s hut, I looked her in the face. “ You seem to 
fancy I make some claim upon you. I have no 
such idea; such a thought never entered my mind. 
I give you my word I will never speak of what 
passed in the camp yonder. It is to me as if it had 
never been.” 

“ If I remember right you said something of the 
same before, then boasted of it to the first man you 
met. For a horse-boy you have a fair stock of fine 
words, but you cannot take me in any longer. What 
you have done shall be paid for.” 

“ I want no pay,” I interrupted. “ I will not 
take from you a single crown. And I had no 
thought of boasting when I spoke as I did up 
yonder. I meant to call myself your servant, as 
I should do now if anyone questioned me; but I 
could not make the old man understand. It was 
easier to let him have his own way; I thought 
to gain his good-will by it. You do not believe? ” 
as she looked at me incredulously. “ It matters 
not. What have you to do with me at all? You 
are a great lady, I a nameless horse-boy. In a 
few minutes I shall pass out of your existence.” 

“ Heaven only grant that you may; there is 
nothing better that I can ask for. Now to yon 
town, sir, with what speed you may. It is truly a 
pain to me until I am freed from your presence.” 


LAST STAGE^THE CAVALIER. 


103 

Unfortunately, the demoiselle was not to have 
done with me even yet. 

We passed through the gates without question, 
though a smart young gentleman, in a blue riding 
suit, laced with silver, who was standing talking 
to an officer of the guard, looked at us rather 
curiously. I did not like his impertinent stare. 
So, instead of inquiring at the gates for the gov- 
ernor’s house as I had intended, I went straight 
on, and presently questioned a passer-by. This 
took me out of my way, I suppose, for when, after 
crossing the market place, I turned down a narrow 
street as directed, I saw this same gentleman walk- 
ing slowly in front. He turned round as he heard 
us approaching, then, signing me to stop, laid his 
hand familiarly upon the demoiselle’s arm. She 
looked up in astonishment, and, her hood falling 
back, revealed her face. 

“ Ah, I knew those bright eyes had not deceived 
me! ” he cried. “ My pretty one, ’tis a sin to hide 
such a face; you should leave thick hoods for the 
old and ugly.” 

I did not interfere. Why should I? I might 
not be thanked. It was one of the lady’s own kind. 
I supposed she would know how to deal with him. 
What she did was to draw herself up and motion 
him away indignantly. 

“ Monsieur, you mistake, I am not what you 
take me for. Jean, lead on, why are you stop- 
ping?” 

I obeyed without a word, but the young gentle- 
man walked on by her side. 

“ For what should I take you, my charmer, save 


104 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


for the prettiest little girl I have seen in Dunstano? 
Tell me where you dwell, sweetheart, and I will 
come and see you.” 

I looked full of rage at his cool insolence; yet 
would I not stir a step until the demoiselle gave 
the word. And she was proud, too; resolved not 
to ask my help, though growing more and more 
distressed at the fellow’s importunities. For he 
still kept talking, and would not leave us; and he 
had it all to himself, the street was so quiet and 
deserted. Save a few ragged children, who followed 
the fine gentleman to beg for alms, not a soul could 
be seen from end to end. At last, though still she 
would not speak, I caught an appealing glance im- 
possible to resist, and, halting the mule, approached 
her side, saying respectfully, “ My lady, I fear the 
gentleman is troubling you.” 

He is more than troubling, he is insulting. 
Monsieur, once more I beg of you to leave me.” 

“ You hear what the lady says, sir? ” I repeated. 
“ Will it please you to go away? ” 

“Lady, forsooth!” and he laughed jeeringly. 
“ Since when have the peasant girls of these parts 
become ladies? A fine lady, indeed,” and he laughed 
again. “ A lady with a ragged beggar boy for 
escort.” 

“ Beggar boy or not, I will do my best to pro- 
tect her. As you see, your attentions are unwel- 
come, monsieur. Will it please you to let us pass 
in peace? My mistress is a lady, truly, though she 
has but a beggar boy for servant.” 

“ Tell that to your fellows, boy, it will not go 
down with me. But I care not to bandy words 


LAST STAGE— THE CAVALIER. 


1^5 

with a churl. Since the lady — your mistress, if you 
will have it so — has the bad taste to prefer your 
company to mine, let her pay toll, and she shall 
pass. One kiss, my pretty one, and you shall go,” 
and, leaping upon a flat stone, he would have sa- 
luted her cheek had I not sprung forward and 
pushed him back. 

“ Keep your distance, monsieur,” I cried. “ Even 
if you are a noble we do not belong to your lands; 
you have no right to interfere with us.” 

The suddenness of the assault almost threw him 
over; but, recovering himself quickly, he drew his 
sword, and struck at me with the flat part of it. The 
blow was given with good will, and might have 
stunned me, but I jumped on one side, and it fell 
upon Nanette. Instantly the animal flung out both 
legs, and, catching my gentleman upon the knee, 
he fell tO' the ground. Nor did he rise again in a 
hurry — he had fallen with some violence upon the 
stones. When, limping, scarce able to stand, he 
rose at length, holding fast to the wall to support 
himself whilst he pursued us with imprecations, 
the mule had nearly reached the end of the street, 
and I was running after her. It was an ignominious 
flight, truly, but what could I have done against a 
gentleman? I was very grateful to Nanette, I can 
assure you. She got us out of the scrape very clev- 
erly, and, as soon as I had the chance, I rewarded 
. her with a good feast. 

“ Jean, I am obliged to you,” said the demoi- 
selle presently, in a low voice, compelling herself, 
as it were, to be grateful against her will. 

“ Nay, ’tis Nanette you have to thank this time,” 
8 


Io6 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

I returned carelessly. “ I should have cut a poor 
figure save for her.” 

And not another word passed between us until 
we reached the governor’s house. I led the mule 
into a large courtyard, where many people were 
coming and going, and, after assisting the lady to 
dismount, I walked before her to the principal en- 
trance, proclaiming aloud her name and quality. 

“ Way there, way there, for the noble demoi- 
selle, Mademoiselle, sister to the Marquis of Su- 
resne! ” I cried loudly. 

The people stared and gaped; some laughed, 
some looked as if they thought me mad; but all 
made way, not one of them venturing to interfere 
with me. I walked boldly on, ascending a flight 
of steps with a sentry on each side, until at last we 
reached the hall. Here a steward, or some superior 
sort of servant, came forward to interrogate me, 
and taking off my cap and bowing low I referred 
him to the noble lady, my mistress. What passed 
between them I know not, for I held a little aloof; 
but, presently, to the astonishment of all beholders, 
the steward bowed before my late companion almost 
to the ground; then ushered her with courtly cere- 
mony up a staircase. I followed them with my eyes 
until some curtains fell behind her, and she was 
gone. 

All I had to do now was to effect my own re- 
treat quietly as I could, to escape without question- 
ing. At first this was not so easy. Such an arrival, 
and in such strange fashion, was not likely to pass 
without comment. But, scarcely had several gath- 
ered round, each trying to be the first to get hold 


LAST STAGE— THE CAVALIER. 


107 


of me, when there was a slight commotion. Some 
prisoners were brought in, escorted by the guard. 
Everyone was pushed aside. I managed to slip out ; 
found the mule just where I had left it, and was out 
of the courtyard before I was even missed. We 
had entered from the right, I turned now to the 
left; the gates on the other side of the town soon 
came in sight, I passed through, whipped up poor 
Nanette, and was some miles from Dunstano before 
I stayed her. 

By that time my poor old mule had had enough 
of it, and, halting for the night at a little wayside 
inn, I gave her a rubbing down such as I warrant 
me she was little used to, and afterwards a first-rate 
supper. 

Next morning it was necessary to come to some 
determination respecting my future proceedings. 
The first thing was to take stock of my possessions. 
That was soon done. A mule, with saddle and 
bridle — the bridle, a piece of rope, the saddle all 
shreds and tatters, with its stuffing of hay protrud- 
ing — and three gold pieces, one of which I must 
break into to pay my reckoning. Never having 
possessed any money before, I thought these would 
carry me anywhere. The world was all before me. 
I was free to go where I pleased. I had heard much 
talk of Paris in the brigands’ camp; why not travel 
thither to seek my fortune? Many great lords dwelt 
in Paris, I had been told; why should I not take 
service under one of them? Or I might even make 
for Calais. With three gold pieces and a mule, 
what could I not do? If the old burgher had spoken 
true, I might find one to befriend me there. 


I08 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

On the whole, however, I rather inclined to 
Paris. The tales of the brigands made the city seem 
attractive to me. I was still hesitating, when I sud- 
denly remembered the paper I bore in my breast, 
the marriage contract the captain had bidden me 
take care of. I had forgotten all about it, or I 
should have given it to the demoiselle. I drew the 
roll forth now, and looked at it curiously. The 
strange black characters told me nothing; yet I 
knew exactly where mademoiselle had written her 
name, and I saw my own clumsy sign close be- 
side it. 

This turned my thoughts into a new channel. 
Suppose I were, indeed, as the captain had said, 
the husband of Mademoiselle de Suresne? What 
a difference it ought to make to me. The knowl- 
edge that there was such a tie between the noble 
lady and myself — secret and unknown though it 
must ever be — aroused in me feelings of ambition 
that had hitherto lain dormant. I had something 
to strive for now, I had to make myself worthy 
even of the Demoiselle de Suresne. She would 
never know, but that mattered little;- she had done 
her part, she had stirred in me the spirit of my race 
at last. 

Of course, had I been the low-born peasant they 
supposed, such a resolve would have been impos- 
sible. No achievements, however great, could make 
a churl a gentleman. Happily, I was no peasant, 
but the son of an English knight; never for a mo- 
ment did I douht the story of Mere Tapin. I might 
never be able to prove my birth — Crispin Papillard 
had, unfortunately, convinced me of that, or noth- 


LAST STAGE— THE CAVALIER. 


109 

ing would have kept me from Calais — but I was 
assured of it myself, and that should be enough 
for me. 

After a great deal of reflection, which made my 
head ache sadly, I decided the first step on my 
way was to learn the arts of reading and writing. 
The demoiselle had written her name without trou- 
ble, so had the boy marquis; I also must learn 
how to do the same. In my ignorance, I did not 
know that to be an accomplished man-at-arms was 
of much more importance, that many a great noble 
could not read, or sign his name, any more than 
I could. I learned later that the noble marquis, 
whom I had seen come to such an untimely end, 
had, in his youth, been trained for the church, and 
he in turn had taught his children. All this I had 
to find out. I still kept, however, to my first idea, 
and resolved to bend my steps towards Paris. All 
students went to Paris ; I would do my best to make 
one of them. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


FATHER FELIX. 

I STARTED on Hiy long journey gaily enough. 
Unfortunately my little stock of money came to an 
end before I was half way. When I had changed 
my last piece there was nothing for it, I thought 
sadly, but to part with my good old mule. The 
money I hoped to obtain for her might enable me 
to perform the rest of my journey on foot. I was 
sad, because I did not like parting with Nanette. 
We had grown accustomed to one another, we were 
like a pair of old friends; besides, I had never 
ceased to feel grateful for her timely kick. Still, 
needs must when necessity drives; I could not feed 
on grass by the wayside as she could. 

I was rather proud of Nanette’s good qualities, 
but when I offered her to the landlord of the inn 
where I had stayed the night, he laughed in my 
face. 

“ Buy her? ” he cried, “ why she is older than my 
grandame. I will take her for your reckoning if 
hast no money, but she will be dear to me at that. 
You knew my charges when you came in — so much 
for supper, so much for the straw you slept on, so 
much for the breakfast you have just eaten, and 


no 


FATHER FELIX. 


Ill 


your appetite is good, you know — you should not 
eat if you cannot pay.” 

“ You are mistaken, master landlord,” I returned 
indignantly. “ If the mule is old she is strong, there 
is much work in her yet. She has carried me from 
the mountains without stumbling, besides using her 
heels to free me from an enemy on the way. I 
part with her to my sorrow, but she shall never go 
where she is despised. Here is your reckoning, 
master,” and putting my hand to my pouch, as if 
I had plenty left still, I pulled out my last few sous. 
Fortunately, my reckoning came to but a very 
small sum; I had enough. 

This put the landlord in a better humour, and, 
besides, the thought of a profitable bargain had just 
occurred to him; he had been too hasty. 

“ If you really desire to sell the animal,” he said, 
‘‘ now that I see you are an honest fellow, I do not 
mind dealing. What might you want for her, 
young master? ” 

“ Nothing from you,” I retorted, seeing well 
what manner of man he was, that he was not likely 
to give me anything worth having. 

“ Nay, why take offence? ” he persisted. “ You 
want to sell, I am willing to buy, why should we 
not make a bargain? Come, now, I will give 
you ” He hesitated, then named a sum so ab- 

surdly small I will not even trouble to set it down. 

It was my turn to laugh in his face, and I did 
not miss the opportunity. 

“ ^Tis a merry jest, good master landlord!” I 
cried, and, without taking further notice, jumped on 
Nanette’s back and rode leisurely out of the yard. 


1 12 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

Go, and bad luck go with you, rascal,” he 
called after me; “I doubt if the mule be not stolen. 
Begone, with what speed you may, lest I send the 
watch after you.” 

For all answer I turned round and laughed at 
him, until he went in and banged the door, so that 
the casements rattled again. 

The inn was an insignificant place by the way- 
side, used only by the meaner sort of travellers; 
but it had a fair-sized orchard running along by 
the high road, and, as I reached the farther end, I 
heard a voice calling softly through the hedge, 
“ Stop, young master, stop.” 

It was the stout-armed serving wench who had 
waited upon me with my breakfast. I had spoken 
her kindly because her eyes were red; her mistress 
had been rating her, and I had nothing to bestow 
but civil words. 

‘‘ Young master,” she said again, and, as she 
spoke, she looked around every moment to see she 
was not observed, “ if you really want to sell your 
mule, take her to Monsieur the cure.” 

“ Do you think it would be any use, Perette? 
She really is old, you know, and not good for very 
much.” 

“ If she is quiet and does not stumble, Father 
Felix will not mind aught else. He is a great 
scholar, he reads books, reads always, even when 
he rides; to have no trouble with his beast is all 
he asks. And he is a good man, he will not cheat 
you. He, there ” — and she crooked her thumb 
over her shoulder — “ he would have taken her at 
once to Father Felix.” 


FATHER FELIX. 


II3 

“ Oh, that was the secret of his disappointment, 
then. You are a good girl, Perette, and if I do sell 
her I will not forget you; at present my pouch is 
empty. Where does Monsieur the cure live?” 

“ In Cleville, the village yonder, straight on and 
you will come to it; anyone will show you his 
dwelling.” 

“ One moment, Perette,” as she was about to 
run away, a new idea occurring to me, “ you say 
Monsieur the cure is a great scholar, what do you 
know about it, how can you tell?” 

‘‘ I only know what everyone knows ; all people 
say that he is. He has more big books than Dame 
Cissi, his housekeeper, can count, and he has many 
little ones besides which he carries in his pocket. 
He is more learned, they say, than monseigneur the 
bishop; never was there a cure like Father Felix. 
I dare not stay longer, I shall be beat,” and she made 
off, dodging in and out among the trees so as to 
reach the house from a different direction. 

I rode slowly on, meditating upon what Perette 
had told me. If this country cure were as learned 
as she said, why not apply to him for what I wanted? 
Paris was a long way off yet, and many things 
might happen before I reached it; why not seize 
this opportunity if I could? I should lose nothing 
anyway, and surely it was worth the trying. 

Once in the village the first passer-by pointed 
out the house, and I soon stood in the presence of 
Father Felix. He was a kindly-looking old man, 
tall, but with stooping shoulders, and a fringe of 
thin white hair. He had an absent manner withal, 
and his eyes had so dreamy a gaze that at times he 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


1 14 

seemed half asleep. Yet, when he chose, he could 
see far enough, as I soon had the opportunity of 
ascertaining. I was enumerating the good quali- 
ties of my mule — amongst other things, I said she 
was so quiet that his reverence might, if he chose, 
read his missal as he rode along — when, chancing 
to look up, I caught the father’s eyes fixed upon 
me, full of quiet amusement. 

“ Ah, I see,” he returned blandly. “ As you say 
you can answer for all this, my son, I suppose I 
am to understand you are studiously inclined your- 
self, that you have been in the habit of beguiling 
your journey by reading. Eh, is it not so? ” 

I hesitated, stammered, then blurted out the 
truth. 

“ Your reverence, I cannot read a line, but they 
told me you were in the habit of carrying a book, 
and I want you very much to buy the mule.” 

“ That is better, that has the ring of truth.” 

“ But, indeed, she is steady,” 1 interrupted. 
“ Often when the sun was hot I have ridden her 
nearly asleep, and she has never even jolted me.” 

“ That also may be true, my son, I say not the 
contrary. And I like her looks, she reminds me 
somewhat of the faithful beast I have lost. What 
may be your price for her? ” 

Then I told him plainly what was in my mind. 
I would let him have the mule for nothing, I would 
be his servant and work for him faithfully, if, in 
return, he would give me food and shelter, and 
teach me the art of reading and writing. 

“Reading and writing? And for what?” — the 
father’s look was keen enough now. “ Do you wish 


FATHER FELIX. 


II5 

to be a clerk, a priest — would you enter the service 
of Holy Church?” 

“ Not so ” — I was quick to undeceive him about 
that. It was a whim, a fancy. I had long wished 
to understand the strange characters I had some- 
times seen, and, becoming unexpectedly possessed 
of the mule and a gold piece or two, I was on my 
way to Paris to find someone to teach me. But 
my money had given out, and hearing his reverence 
was a great scholar, I had ventured to apply to 
him. 

“ A great scholar? No, indeed, my son,” and he 
shook his head. “ A humble student rather, just 
beginning to learn. Nevertheless, I know enough 
to teach you reading and writing, and Cleville, 
methinks, is a safer place for a young man than 
Paris. It is a strange fancy for one in your posi- 
tion; yet the idea is laudable and worthy to be 
encouraged. But I cannot decide at once. The 
mule may not suit me; in spite of your confidence, 
she may not be so fond of learning as you imagine,” 
and the good old man smiled upon me kindly; 
though I knew it was not the mule he was think- 
ing of but myself. “ You shall stay with me for a 
week. I will ride your mule, you shall begin your 
studies; at the end of that time we shall know one 
another better.” 

And that was how I obtained my footing in the 
household of Father Felix. 

At the end of the week, to the day, almost to 
the very hour, the cure sent for me to his study. 

“My son, I am content with you,” he began, 
“ With you and the mule both, and if you like to 


Il6 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

remain in my service I will teach you as much as 
you wish to know. I do not think you have told 
me all, mind ” — I had spoken of Widow Desfou- 
geres, of the hard master I had run away from, of 
the shepherd who had bestowed upon me the mule, 
but never a word as to Mere Tapin, nor of my 
stay in the brigands’ camp — “ but I have some 
knowledge of men as well as of books, and I am 
willing to give you a trial. Touching the price of 
your good animal, for truly she is good, a patient 
quiet beast who hath learnt to know my ways al- 
ready? ” 

“ I ask no price,” I interrupted hastily. If 
your reverence will bestow upon me a short space 
of your time I am repaid a hundredfold.” 

“ Not so, my son, you are strong and able, and 
have already won my good housekeeper’s heart by 
your work in the garden. Never hath she had, she 
saith, a lad so good-tempered and willing. Of 
course, it may not last,” and he looked at me slyly. 

“ It shall last your service,” I interrupted again. 

“ Well, well, we shall see. To go back to the 
mule — I was about to say, that, instead of money, I 
will procure for you two suits of clothes, one for 
Sundays and fHe days, one for your work. Those 
you have on, besides being somewhat the worse for 
wear, are scarce suited for your new position.” 

And, indeed, I was garbed somewhat poorly. I 
had a stout leathern jerkin, that is true; but the 
piece was lacking I had cut out for the demoiselle’s 
feet, and as to my nether garments, the less said 
about them the better. 

Behold me now, new clad from top to toe, in 


FATHER FELIX. 


II7 

doublet and hose of sober colours, as became a 
priests’ serving-man, doing my utmost to please 
my new master. At first my progress was but 
slow. I had no idea that to learn reading and 
writing was such a terrible undertaking; often was 
I tempted to give up in despair. But my teacher 
would not allow that; once I had begun he kept 
me to it, until at last the first difficulties were mas- 
tered. After that life was easier. I still had to work 
hard, but I was able to take some interest in it. 
When I got so far, as a reward for my diligence. 
Father Felix lent me some books containing the 
adventures of one Amadis, a most noble knight 
and prince of chivalry. When I read how his lady 
often flouted him, I thought of the demoiselle; when 
I found he was constant ever, I made up my mind 
I would be the same. Another book with the lives 
of the holy saints, I am sorry to say, I did not care 
for quite so much, though truly their deeds were 
most marvellous. I liked best to read about knights, 
because I thought of my father, even dreamed some- 
times I might perchance become a knight myself. 
Yet, for all that, he was so good to me, I never 
said a word of this to Father Felix. I had no par- 
ticular reason save that I did not care to speak 
to no purpose, and I soon found out that the good 
cure, though he knew everything in the world else, 
was ignorant of the English tongue. It was foolish 
of me, for the good father might have helped me 
much; yet I know not that I was worse off in the 
end. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A TAVERN BRAWL. 

I LEARNED a great deal more than mere reading 
and writing whilst I dwelt with Father Felix. When 
he saw how I applied myself he soon made me leave 
off my rough work, and kept me a good deal about 
his person. He would talk to me sometimes for 
the hour together, of brave deeds done in the past; 
it was not until I came to mix with the great world 
I found out how much Father Felix had taught me. 
Also, I lost a good deal of my clownish rudeness. 
Being so much with my good master, I caught, 
unconsciously, something of his manner, and his 
mode of speech. For Father Felix was not as other 
cures in the villages round, most of them little above 
the peasants and given often to wine. How such 
a man came to be in such a small village is hard 
to tell, unless his superiors found him too good and 
sent him there out of the way. And yet he was 
very happy. He loved his people, and loved his 
books, and wanted nothing better. 

I stayed with the good father for nearly two 
years, then events happened which made it neces- 
sary for me to go. The seigneur of the village was 
a certain Count Vallis, who owned a chateau hard 


A TA VERJV BRA WL. 


1 19 

by. He was an officer of the court, holding a post 
in the household of madame, the King’s mother, and 
was very seldom at Cleville. Lately, however, hav- 
ing had the misfortune to lose his wife, he had come 
thither for a period of seclusion. With him came 
his son. Monsieur Philippe, a lad of fourteen. 

With this young gentleman, after a humble 
fashion, I soon became acquainted. He was pleased 
to take what he called a fancy to me, and, as he 
had nothing to do, would stroll down every day 
and demand my company. He had scarce known 
me a week when he promised me fine rewards if I 
would quit Father Felix and serve him instead, 
and was quite offended when I refused. He was a 
boastful braggart youth, yet I have cause to be 
grateful to him, for he gave me my first lessons in 
sword-play. Fresh from his fencing school, he 
wanted someone to practise with, and, in default 
of better, taught me. He was not a very patient 
teacher, and never missed a chance of a blow; but 
I took to the sword a great deal more kindly than 
I did to learning, and made much more rapid prog- 
ress. 

At length there came a time when I knew as 
much as my teacher, and, being taller and stronger, 
the conditions were no longer equal. I was not 
sufficiently master of my weapon to do as I liked 
with it, and one day, when he was pressing me 
more than I cared for, I had the misfortune to 
slightly wound him. For we were fighting with 
sharp swords that day, much against my inclination; 
but Monsieur Philippe had brought them down on 
purpose, and of course I had to obey. Fortunately 


120 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


it was a mere scratch, but the young gentleman was 
highly indignant, the more so I think as he had 
meant to hurt me. 

It was a vexatious circumstance in every way, 
and I regretted it with all my heart. No one ever 
knew, we both took good care of that, or there 
would have been trouble. Monsieur Philippe would 
have fallen into disgrace for crossing weapons with 
a serving man; I should, perhaps, have had a beat- 
ing. Even Father Felix would have looked sadly 
upon me, blamed himself, perhaps, for teaching 
me above my position. 

After this little incident the young monsieur 
turned quite against me. He left off seeking my 
company, which I thought only natural; what I 
did not think so fair, was that he should circulate 
bad stories against me. He tried all he could to 
get me into trouble with Father Felix. For instance, 
I was used sometimes to go and talk with Perette 
— who, by the way, had a sturdy sweetheart of her 
own — and he took occasion of this to accuse me of 
light conduct. No one really believed him, but he 
was the seigneur’s son, he must not be offended, 
and I was soon made very uncomfortable. 

So one day I shut myself in my garret, and 
drawing forth some paper — my marriage contract 
— read it from end to end. There was much T 
could not understand, ’twas couched in such strange 
fashion, but I could read the writing easily. “ Very 
good, Jean,” I said to myself, “ you have learnt 
something; all these months of labour have not 
been wasted. Now it is time to be moving on. 
Monsieur Philippe has done you a service, Jean, 


A TA VERN BRA WL. 


I2I 


without intending it; you might have stopped here 
too long. You must go to Calais now to learn 
something of John of Strathbourne. Noble knights 
are not forgotten like poor folk, when they die. 
Master Papillard ought to have known better. He 
meant well, I dare say, but I do not believe in him 
now.” 

Father Felix was very loth to part with me; yet 
as for some unknown reason, I had incurred the 
ill-will of the young monsieur, he acknowledged 
that it was best. For my own sake I must be gone 
before worse came of it. Accordingly, he gave me 
a letter to a large convent at Auxerre, where, he 
was sure, he said, they would employ me. I gave 
him all thanks as in duty bound, and promised I 
would not fail to use it in case of need; but first 
I meant to seek a friend in the English town of 
Calais. I had not forgotten the dying message 
Crispin Papillard had intrusted to me. I meant to 
go to Master Surbeck. 

The good cure was very poor; the little money 
he had he gave mostly to his poor people; only 
now and again did he indulge himself in a book. 
Still he managed to find me a few gold pieces; 
then one morning, after early mass, with the old 
man’s blessing still ringing in my ears, I very sor- 
rowfully departed. I had learned to love Father 
Felix dearly, he had been a true friend to me; 
indeed, I owed him much. I was no longer the 
uncouth churl who had come to Cleville, no longer 
the brigands’ horse-boy, rude in manner as in 
speech. In the plain dark garb the good father 
had provided there was about me something of the 
9 


122 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


young clerk, and, indeed, that was what people 
thought me. 

I travelled on foot as suited my slender purse, 
and for the first half of my journey I had a com- 
panion. Father Felix placed me under the charge 
of a bare-footed friar who was returning to his con- 
vent. I hardly think he guessed, however, what a 
jovial fellow-traveller he gave me. The jolly friar 
beguiled the way with songs — not all of them holy 
psalms — and when we came to a village or town 
he walked into the best house as if it belonged to 
him, and everything it contained was at his service. 
The women would fly to bring water to wash his 
feet, to set out the choicest upon the table; only the 
men sometimes, I fancied, held back a little, and 
looked at him with eyes askance. And all was re- 
paid by a ‘‘ Benedicite, my children.” All the time 
I journeyed with him I did not spend one piece. 

I cannot stay now to set down all the merry 
adventures we had together, nor yet what befell 
me when I went on by myself. I passed through 
Paris on my way, and halted there for a day to 
see the fine buildings, and catch a glimpse of the 
King. Unluckily, I was disappointed in this, for 
King Francis was away, hunting in his forest of St. 
Germain. He did not often stay in Paris, the peo- 
ple told me; at which I did not wonder, when I 
smelt the foul ditch which ran beneath the windows 
of the Palais de Tournelles. I saw, however, the 
house of the Constable de Bourbon. I first noticed 
it because the gateway was painted a bright yellow, 
and when I looked through the grating, the court- 
yard was dry and bare where it had been sown with 


A TA VERX BRA WL. 


123 


salt. It was the house of a traitor, they said, there- 
fore it had been painted and strewn with salt; such 
was the custom always. 

As I wended my way through Picardy I was 
reminded much of the story Mere Tapin had told 
me. In every town I saw traces of the English. 
They were always ravaging Picardy, even now, just 
as it had been in my father’s time. And it was on 
the borders of Picardy, scarce half-a-day’s journey 
from the English pale, that I take up my tale again. 

It was past noon, and I had been walking since 
dawn, when I arrived at a fair sized village. It was 
half in ruins, having been burnt a few years before, 
when the Duke of Suffolk desolated the country 
well nigh to Paris. It had been partly rebuilt since, 
and a great bush swinging high across the road 
showed me where was the village inn. I entered 
gladly, for I was much fatigued; and calling for a 
measure of thin wine to wash down my frugal 
repast, took some bread and cheese out of m'y 
wallet. I sat down on a bench in one corner out 
of the way of more important customers, and at 
first was too intent upon satisfying my hunger to 
give heed to what was going on. Thus it was that 
I do not know how it began, or what was the first 
cause of the trouble. 

When the increasing hubbub at last drew my 
attention, I found there was a war of words going 
on between a gentleman seated alone on one side 
of the table, and another party of three, who were 
drinking their wine at a little distance. They were 
all young, not one of them I should say having 
reached thirty, but whilst the three friends were of 


124 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


swarthy complexion, and rather slenderly formed, 
the one who sat alone, besides being stout and 
stalwart, had fair hair and blue eyes, and his ruddy 
beard shone like gold. His dress also was some- 
what differently fashioned from the others, but it 
was quite as rich, and the jewel that fastened the 
plume in his cap flashed brighter than any of theirs. 
Two of the dark men wore short red cloaks, but 
their companion was in a suit of green, and his 
mantle was green likewise. 

It was the three who made all the noise. They 
were talking loudly, and gesticulating with great 
vehemence, whilst the fair-haired knight merely 
looked up now and again with a slight smile that 
seemed to exasperate them. I soon saw that al- 
though they were three to one, they were talking at 
the knight, not to him, as if they wished to provoke 
him to begin the fray. But he still took no notice, 
until at last, by accident or design, one of them 
filled his glass so clumsily that the wine splashed 
upon the table, and some drops reached the fair 
cavalier. Instantly he was upon his feet; yet he 
spoke quietly enough — 

“ That was rather awkwardly done, monsieur. 
Am I to take it as an accident? If so, I wait for 
your apology.” 

I think his quiet manner deceived them, for he 
who had spilt the wine, returned in a tone even 
more insolent than his words: 

“ You may take it just as you choose, monsieur,” 
and his friends burst into a loud laugh. 

“ I will take it this way, then,” returned the other 
equably. “ I will return the compliment,” and, 


A TA FERN- BRA WL, 


125 

catching up his glass, he emptied it over his in- 
sulter. 

Then arose a commotion, indeed. Swords 
flashed forth, and everyone crowded round to see 
the three knights fall upon one. The landlord alone 
disappeared. He rushed out into the street, call- 
ing loudly for the watch. 

Though the contest was so unequal, the fair- 
haired monsieur had not a friend among them — a 
fact soon explained when I heard the shouts and 
cries. 

Pig of an Englishman! Down with the Eng- 
lishman! Death to the English spy! What does 
he here ? ” 

Though England and France were for the mo- 
ment at peace, it was not likely an Englishman 
would find friends in Picardy. I jumped up on the 
bench to watch the fray, wishing with all my heart 
I had a sword to join in, that I could strike a blow 
for my countryman fighting against such odds. Yet 
he did not seem to need much assistance. The 
clash of swords was sharp and fierce, but with his 
back to the wall he kept them all at bay; he held 
his own gallantly. Then he in the green suit drew 
off a little; I thought, in my innocence, to give his 
adversary fairer play. I was very soon undeceived. 
Watching his opportunity, he suddenly sprang upon 
the table, and struck at the Englishman’s unguarded 
head. It was a foul blow, and ill would have come 
of it, only. Our Lady be praised, I was quick as 
he. A three-legged stool stood close to my hand, 
and, catching it up, I hurled it with all my might. 
It caught my gentleman full in the face. His sword 


126 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


flew into the air, and he fell senseless, blood gush- 
ing from his nose and mouth. 

“ Well thrown! well thrown! ” cried the English- 
man, who had become aware of his peril without 
being able to avert it. “ By St. George, well thrown 
indeed! Master clerk, I rather fancy you have saved 
my life. Have at them! Down with the cowardly 
dogs!” And he shouted some words in English 
which sounded like a battle cry. 

And, indeed, it was somewhat like a battle now. 
When he of the green cloak fell there arose a per- 
fect howl of execration. Every man in the room 
pressed forward to take share in the fight; and 
sticks, broken benches, and empty bottles were 
hurled indiscriminately. The two cavaliers were out 
of it now. Some of the missiles fell upon their heads 
also, and they made haste to retreat. 

“Forward! Charge! Scatter them !” cried the 
Englishman, making a rush, and using the flat of 
his sword vigorously, while I seconded him as well 
as I could with half of a broken bench. Unluckily, 
although they gave way in front, it was only to 
close in and attack us from behind. We were in 
more peril than ever, until presently I spied a small 
door in a corner near, and, pointing it out to the 
Englishman, we fought our way towards it. And 
truly it was time to beat a retreat. My head was 
cut from the glass of a broken bottle, my left arm 
was almost useless, whilst the blood was streaming 
down the Englishman’s face, blinding him so that 
he could scarce see. 

When we reached the door the knight made me 
go in first; then, clearing a space with the point of 


A TA VERN BRA WL. 


127 


his sword, followed me quickly and clapped it fast. 
There was a key inside, and a stout oaken bar as 
well, so that, beat as they might, for a little space 
we were at peace. The Englishman took advan- 
tage of this to bind up his wounded head, which he 
did very coolly, advising me to follow his example. 
Few words passed between us at first. Neither had 
much breath to spare, not to speak of the noise as 
they strove to break down the door, which almost 
drowned our voices. 

Then suddenly there came a lull, followed by 
cries of “The watch! the watch!” then a hurried 
rush of retreating footsteps. The Englishman 
laughed : 

“ The curs run. It is time now to think of our- 
selves. You have friends here, my young clerk — ■ 
someone to speak for you?” 

“ I am no clerk, monsieur, and a stranger be- 
sides. I but halted on my way to Calais.” 

“ You have friends there? ” 

“I hope to find some; at present I know no 
one.” 

“ You had best be off, then, for I have no power 
to help you here. They dare not hurt me; all the 
more will they fall upon you. I wish it was the 
other way about, by my word I do. I should have 
fared badly but for that well-timed blow of yours. 
I was a fool to come here alone, though I had my 
reasons. Yet what to do for you ” 

“ Pardon, monsieur,” I interrupted. “ I am no 
child; I am generally in the habit of helping my- 
self. That fine gentleman I knocked over just now 
— I suppose he was a person of some consequence? ” 


128 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Not a doubt of it, though I have not the hon- 
our of his acquaintance.” 

“ I had best keep clear of the watch, then. ’Tis 
easier to get into prison than out again.” 

“ My young clerk, you speak like an oracle, only 
time is pressing and they are coming. Stay, though, 
I have it. You are my servant, I have a claim to 
protect you then.” 

Nay, monsieur, that will not do. You arrived 
here on horseback, I doubt not, I came some time 
later on foot. Besides, I paid my own score, and 
ate my own bread and cheese; my fare, I assure you, 
was not that of monsieur’s servants.” 

“ Neither do you speak like a servant, my good 
friend; I cannot quite make you out. I can swear 
I never set eyes upon you before, yet there is some- 
thing about you reminds me of one I held dear — a 
close kinsman who is no more. You must come to 
no hurt by me, or I should never forgive myself.” 

I did not pay much heed to his words, for, whilst 
he was speaking, I was looking about seeking some 
way of escape. 

Our place of retreat was a sort of closet, long, 
narrow, and rather dark, lighted only by a small 
grating high up in the wall. One side was fitted 
with shelves from top to bottom. On the upper- 
most were tankards, and cups, and pewter trenchers, 
others were filled with cheeses and loaves of rye 
bread, and on the lowest, amongst other things, was 
a half-eaten roast capon flanked by a flask of red 
wine. The other side was lined with meal tubs, and 
barrels of salt meat; but behind these, out of sight 
in the darkest corner, I spied at last a small oaken 


A TA VERN BRA WL. 


129 


door. It was locked and bolted, top and bottom, 
but a key was hanging close beside, and I soon 
moved the barrels and had it open. 

“ See, monsieur,” I exclaimed, “ ’tis the easiest 
thing in the world. I have but to walk out.” 

The door, I found, gave on to a short passage, 
open at one end to the street, at the other to the 
inn garden. 

“ This is my way,” I said, pointing towards the 
garden. “ While you are parleying with them here 
I will slip off and be on my road before they miss 
me. Unless, indeed, you will think better of it and 
come also.” 

“ Not 1. I am in no danger, and I have a crow 
to pluck with those fine gentlemen; they have not 
done with me yet. I will keep the watch in play, 
never fear; they drove me in here for their pleasure, 
I shall study my own before coming, out again. 
Stay one moment, have you money?” and he put 
his hand to pouch. 

“ Plenty for my needs, monsieur,” I answered 
quickly, for I did not want him to pay me; though, 
indeed, my last crown was drawing to an end. 

‘‘ Good, but you may as well secure your sup- 
per,” and, going to the shelf, he brought the flask 
and the capon, saying, as he thrust them into my 
wallet, “ When they were teaching me the art of 
war the first thing I learned was always to look after 
the victualling. Now, be off before messieurs the 
watch break in the door. You know the way? 
Make for the forest; there is a plain track will take 
you to Guisnes. Once there you are safe, for it is 
English ground. Be sure you do not fail to come 


130 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


to me at Calais; you and I must have some talk 
together. Now, gentlemen of the watch, I am ready 
for you,” and, as I slipped away, I heard him de- 
manding in loud tones who it was that thus dared 
to disturb him. 

I reached the garden unperceived, as every crea- 
ture belonging to the place was assisting at the dis- 
turbance in front. It was of some extent, terminat- 
ing at the far end in a thicket of hazel-bushes, 
into which I plunged very willingly. After, came 
a broad ditch I had to wade, then cornfields, sepa- 
rated from the road by a fringe of poplars. I kept 
behind these as much as possible; running my hard- 
est when no one was in sight, walking steadily when 
people passed. I made my way thus for some dis- 
tance, until the fields gave place to waste land and 
bog. Then I came upon an outlying spur of some 
great forest, which took me back to the days of my 
childhood. It seemed home to me directly, I was 
lost amongst the trees, my grief was that it came 
to an end so soon. 

That night I rested at Guisnes, doing full justice, 
by the way, to the Englishman’s supper, and early 
next morning, joining myself to a company of peas- 
ants going to market, I passed with them through 
the gates of Calais. My long journey had come 
to an end; I had reached my destination. 


CHAPTER XV. 


AT THE SIGN OF THE DOG AND PORRIDGE POT. 

I WAS in no hurry to go directly to Master Sur- 
beck, for, the first time since I had started, I felt 
free to look about me. Save that one day in Paris, 
I had seen little of cities; thanks to Father Felix, I 
had always avoided them. “ Bad for your purse, 
and you may fall in with bad company,” he had 
said ; “ better walk a league round than go through 
a city.” I had promised to follow his counsels. 
I had done so to the best of my power; now I 
could please myself. I wandered on, I knew not 
whither, every moment some new object attracting 
my admiration. Now it was some fine dwelling, 
covered with carvings, fresh from the mason’s hand, 
and with arms and motto emblazoned over the gate- 
way. Then my attention would be diverted by the 
passing of a band of men-at-arms. Their well- 
polished weapons and bright armour, their soldierly 
bearing and the strict order in which they marched, 
formed a great contrast to the roughness of my 
friends the brigands. 

Once I had to jump aside to avoid being hus- 
tled into the gutter by half a dozen of these same 
men. They were off duty, and came swaggering 
along, thrusting aside all who stood in their way. 


132 ‘ JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

At any other time I might have resented their treat- 
ment, but I was too interested in listening to their 
English tongue. It seemed so strange to me that 
these were my countrymen ; I would not have quar- 
relled with them for a bag of crowns. Instead, I 
pulled off my cap with a mock bow, and jumped 
aside laughing. When they saw I took their rude- 
ness in good part, they laughed also, and spoke to 
me in English. I shook my head to show I did not 
understand, and they cried again in a barbarous 
jargon, half English, half French, which I made 
out to be, “ Well done, you are a good fellow, come 
and drink with us,” at the same time putting their 
hands to their mouths imitating the niotions of 
drinking. I shook my head once more, said I must 
be off about my business, and with another laugh 
and wave of the hand got away. 

As I turned the corner of the street, a knight in 
full armour, save for his helmet, rode slowly by on 
his way to the tilt-yard. Two esquires followed at a 
short distance, one bearing his master’s head-piece 
on his saddle bow, the other carrying his pennon. 
I stood and watched until they passed out of sight, 
feasting my eyes on the knight’s brave looks and 
gaily caparisoned steed. Something in his bearing 
reminded me of the Englishman I had left at the 
inn. “ Ah, I will not fail to seek out my new 
friend,” I thought to myself, “ if he is a gallant 
knight like that one, he may be able to help me to 
some purpose. Should I fail to learn anything con- 
cerning my father, as Master Papillard predicted, 
the English knight shall be my leader; I will serve 
under his banner.” Then, for the first time, it 


AT THE SIGN OF THE DOG. 


133 


crossed my mind that I knew not my friend’s name. 
“ Do not fail to come to me at Calais,” he had said, 
and that was all. He had forgotten I was a stranger, 
and his dress was plain, he wore no device, and I 
knew not how to ask for him. Still it would not 
matter much, I felt sure; I had but to keep my eyes 
open, and I should see him riding through the 
streets. 

By the time I had arrived at this conclusion it 
was close upon ten o’clock, and savoury smells 
from every inn proclaimed the dinner hour was at 
hand. In these degenerate days men have fallen 
into the habit of taking their meals later. My neigh- 
bour hard by, who brings us always the newest from 
court, never dines before noon, sometimes so late 
even as one. As for myself, I keep to the good old 
hour still, 

“ To rise at six, to dine at ten, 

To sup at six, to bed at ten. 

Makes a man live to ten times ten.” 

Thus runs the old song, and so say I. 

To go back to my first day in Calais, it was near 
ten ; everything, including my own appetite, showed 
it was dinner-time, and my thoughts turned towards 
Master Surbeck and the message I was to deliver. 
I was to hear of him, you may remember, at the 
house with the sign of the Dog and Porridge Pot, 
hard by the convent of the Black Friars. To the 
convent of the Black Friars I asked my way now, 
the first passer-by putting me right. Once there I 
could see for myself, as, at a short distance from the 
convent-gate, there hung in mid-air a gilt dog, with 
its head in a three-legged pot, all bright and shin- 


134 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


ing in the sun. The house looked as if it belonged 
to a substantial merchant; it was built of wood and 
plaster with many gables, and there was a long low 
warehouse running behind. A few bales of cloth 
displayed outside showed the trade that was carried 
on within. 

The door of what looked like a dark counting- 
house was partially open, and no answer being re- 
turned to my modest knock, I went straight in. 
I could see no one there at first, but presently from 
behind some rolls of woollen there stepped forth a 
red-faced youth, clad in blue jerkin and white 
breeches, who asked me, not very civilly, what I 
wanted. I answered boldly enough — I was not 
going to be put down by an apprentice — that I 
wished to see one Master Surbeck. 

“ And what might your business be? ” the boy 
persisted, eyeing me up and down very contemptu- 
ously. My appearance had suffered somewhat from 
the fray at the inn; I was not over and above pre- 
sentable. 

“ That is my affair,” I retorted. “ Go you and 
tell your master a stranger is desirous of speaking 
with him.” 

“ Strangers of your sort,” my young gentleman 
returned with a sneer, “ have always good noses ; 
they are quick to smell the cooking-pots. Come 

again in two hours’ time, and perchance ” Then 

in a thrice, his whole bearing altered, he became as 
meek and civil as before he had been insolent. 

Certainly, worthy sir,” he said respectfully, “ and 
if you will but give me your name I will report it to 
my master.” 


AT THE SIGN OF THE DOG. 


135 


The reason of the change was not far to seek. A 
man of middle age, in a dark gown bordered with 
fur, had entered the shop and putting down his cap 
as if he were at home, looked at us questioningly. 

“ ’Tis one who seeks you, sir,” said the appren- 
tice. “ I was telling him even now that your wor- 
ship was abroad.” 

“ Nay, you were telling me that I smelt the ” 

I began, then thinking it was not well to get the 
youth into trouble, especially as there had been a 
spice of truth in what he said, I turned it off with: 
“ If you are one Master Surbeck, to be heard of at 
the sign of the Dog and Porridge Pot, I bring 
you a last message from Crispin Papillard of Grave- 
nel.” 

“ A last message? Is the good man dead then? 
I am Martin Surbeck,. at your service; tell me 
quickly.” 

Then I recounted the circumstances of the good 
old burgher’s death, and the message he had 
charged me with. The merchant was silent for a 
space, his face working as if my news grieved him 
sorely. He said at length: “Heaven have mercy 
upon his soul, may he rest in peace. He died as a 
brave man should. I will have a thousand masses 
said for his repose. They owe me for some cloth 
at the convent, they shall pay for it by their prayers. 
But you,” and he cast at me a sudden suspicious 
glance, “ how know you all this, what sign can you 
show that your tale be true?” 

“ The sign of the day of St. Michael,” I answered 
quickly, as Master Papillard had told me, though I 
mentioned it not at the time. “ For the sake of 


136 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


what happened on that same day you are to believe 
my words and befriend me in my business.” 

“ Ay, ay, it is true, then, for none knew of that 
day besides ourselves. As to your business, com- 
mand me, I will look upon it as a debt I owe to 
Crispin Papillard.” 

“ I would rather speak of it to you alone, sir,” I 
said, glancing at the open-eared apprentice. 

“ Good, good, it shall be so. But ’tis ill talking 
on an empty stomach. You will honour me with 
your company at dinner, young sir. Bolt the door 
Amand, and come quickly. The hour is overpast 
already.” And the merchant led the way into a 
room at the back, where, at a table spread with 
a fair white cloth, a portly dame and two or three 
children sat waiting. They all rose at our approach, 
and remained standing until we had taken our seats. 
Master Surbeck introduced me to his wife with, 
“ Dame, here is one who brings us bad tidings of 
good Crispin Papillard, but ’twill keep till after 
dinner. Bring in the platters, knaves,” and at once 
two or three serving-men quickly placed the smok- 
ing viands upon the table. 

Everyone in the house sat down together, the 
servants and apprentices at the lower end; but I 
was given the place of honour at the right-hand of 
the host. There was very little talking during the 
meal. Master Surbeck asked me a question or two 
very briefly, to which I responded in the same fash- 
ion, seeing well he only spoke out of civility, and 
desired to eat his food in peace. When dinner 
was over the worthy merchant took me into his 
own room to listen to my story. I told him every- 


AT THE SIGN OF THE DOG. 


137 


thing, as Crispin Papillard had counselled me, sav- 
ing only concerning the demoiselle. That was not 
my business at all; even if my lips had not been 
sealed by my promise, it had naught to do with 
the matter in hand. 

“ Tis many years ago, much has happened since 
then,” remarked the merchant when I had finished. 
“ Yet would I not say with my good friend that it 
is impossible. Strathbourne, Strathbourne, I know 
not the name, yet have I large acquaintance with 
the English. Of one thing I am quite certain, there 
is no knight of Strathbourne in Calais now. Per- 
haps your father was what the English call a poor 
knight, a mere hanger-on, that is, in some great 
man’s household. If so, it would be more difficult 
to trace him. But let me see this letter you speak 
of. I can read English easily as French. I had 
need, or little trade should I do, I trow.” 

I placed the torn, discoloured paper in his hands, 
saying, “ It is old and worn, with much carrying, 
but I prize that dark stain more than anything in 
the world. It is my murdered father’s life-blood.” 

“ Fortune of war,” he returned coolly. “ I doubt 
not he shed much good French blood before he 
died, so that makes things even.” And he read 
the letter first to himself, then aloud in French to 
me. It ran thus: 

“ My Lord : This by the hands of my servant, 
who will bring you where I am to be found. I am 
sore wounded, like I think to die, and would fain 
commend to your care my little John. If of your 
goodness you would come to me now, methinks I 
10 


138 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


could die in peace. I wpuld say more, but my 
hurts make me uneasy. From the inn of the 
Golden Lion. 

“ Your Lordship’s most humble servant, 

“ John of Strathbourne.” 

That was all; no more. The superscription 
had perhaps been left for the morrow that never 
came. 

“ It is sorely vexing,” said the merchant. “ Just 
his friend’s name and title would have settled the 
difficulty. Or had he put his seal, and we knew his 
arms, we could find him out directly. It is a pity 
you parted with the ring, for it might have helped 
us.” 

“ I had little choice in the matter,” and I re- 
membered, with a start, how I had placed it upon 
the demoiselle’s finger. “ But it had no arms, it 
bore only a plain device — a badge of two letters 
within a heart. Master Papillard said it was naught 
and I had best sell it.” 

“ Naught, certainly, since it is gone. ’Tis little 
use crying for wine when the butt is empty. I 
must do the best with what I have. It cannot be 
done in a day; it may be weeks, perhaps, or even 
months. What of yourself meanwhile? ” 

“ I had thought, if I learned nothing of my 
father, to take service with the English,” I returned 
to this. “ Perchance it would be well to do so at 
once.” 

“ Not just yet, young sir, if you please. For the 
present you must make your home with me. I 
should be wronging my good friend’s memory did 


AT THE SIGN OF THE DOG. 


139 

I not help you. Remember, he commended you to 
my care.” 

This did not quite suit me. It was one thing 
to be beholden to a stranger for a dinner, quite an- 
other to quarter myself upon him altogether. I ex- 
pressed my feelings best way I could, so as not to 
offend the worthy merchant, and I do not think he 
was displeased at my hesitation. 

If that is all,” he said, “ if it is only your Eng- 
lish independence, perhaps it can be arranged. You 
say you can write, make a fair copy of your letter,” 
and he placed pen and ink-horn before me. 

It took me a little time. I was not very expert 
with the pen, and when I handed it over the good 
man made a wry face. 

“ It would scarce pass from my clerk,” he said, 
but ’tis to be read. ’Twill serve ; yes, ’twill serve. 
Young sir, if you wish you can supply my need. 
I require some extracts made from my private book, 
and care not to give the task to my clerk lest it 
make him wise as his master. You can do me no 
harm even were you so inclined, for you will not 
understand one word. What say you, will you 
undertake the business? It will cost some time and 
trouble, but it will more than pay your diet? ” 

I consented gladly, provided my poor attain- 
ments were of any use to him, and was at once as- 
signed a place in the merchant’s household. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MY LORD ABBOT. 

Behold me now transformed again from a 
cure’s servant to a merchant’s clerk. I cannot say 
the work was much to my liking, or that I did not 
get very tired of it. I was kept nose to desk every 
day from breakfast until dinner, and then again to 
supper at six. The evening hours I was' expected 
to pass in the company of the merchant and his 
family. I had a shrewd suspicion Master Surbeck 
kept me so close more to prevent my getting into 
mischief than because he cared for my work. I 
had been forced to say somewhat of the tavern 
brawl to account for my wounded head. I rather 
fancy he feared I was inclined to be quarrelsome. 

I submitted with good grace, however, to all the 
worthy merchant enjoined, knowing that he was 
at work on my behalf, and that scarce a day passed 
but he did something. All the steps he took I 
never knew, but one was to send a trusted old 
servant among the English troopers to discover, if 
he could, any who had served under John of Strath- 
bourne. The fellow was a Fleming, who boasted 
he could drink cup for cup with any man ; but night 
after night he would stagger home in such condi- 
140 


MY LORD ABBOT, 


I4I 

tion as proved plainly the English were too much 
for him. Worse still, he brought back no news; 
there were few men of old service left in Calais. 
The troops had died off like sheep in the last cam- 
paign, when they had marched almost to the gates 
of Paris. On their way back they had fallen a prey 
to pestilence, scarce a third of them returned, and 
even of this remnant few remained in Calais; they 
had been sent to the wars in Scotland, and their 
places filled up by new levies. 

At last, one day, when I had been in the mer- 
chant’s house for nearly a month. Master Surbeck 
came to me where I sat at work, with, “ Monsieur 
Jean, I have some news for you.” 

“ News of my father? ” I cried eagerly. “ You 
have found out something? ” 

'' A little, not much ; but enough, I think, to put 
us on the right road. I have ordered Hans back 
to his duties, and I trust to Heaven this drinking 
has not spoiled him.” 

“But what have you learned?” I asked impa- 
tiently; I did not want to hear about old Hans. 

“ As a great favour, I have been shown a roll of 
names of those who took part in the wars years 
ago, and, amongst them, low down near the end, as 
if of not much consideration, is the Knight of 
Strathbourne. That in itself would not be much 
to us. We knew the name already, but it proved 
to my friend there once was such a knight in Calais, 
a fact he had seemed inclined to doubt. He coun- 
selled me then to draw up a humble petition to the 
English Governor, inclosing a copy of your letter, 
and he would see that it reached my lord’s hands. 


142 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


I did so on the spot, whilst he stood over and helped 
me with the wording; by this time to-morrow my 
Lord Governor will have read it. So hold your- 
self in readiness, friend, a messenger may arrive 
for you at any time. Have the letter ready to hand, 
and wear the new suit that Amand has made for 
you.” 

But my lord the Governor was in no such hurry. 
For the first week I waited in eager expectation, 
thinking everyone who entered was a messenger 
sent to summon me. Then another week, my hopes 
falling lower every day, until I importuned Master 
Surbeck into seeking his friend again. 

“ Tis ill hurrying those in office,” he remarked 
sagely, “yet if you wait too long you are forgotten 
altogether. I will take you with me this time to 
plead your own cause, and a few gold crowns may 
get us to the Governor the sooner. Perhaps I did 
not grease my good friend’s palm quite thickly 
enough; such fellows have no conscience.” 

I made ready in gladness of heart, but, just as 
we were about to set out, to my great disappoint- 
ment, a lay brother from the convent of the Black 
Friars came to say Master Surbeck was to wait 
upon the Lord Abbot instantly. 

“ He will not keep me long,” said my good 
friend to console me, as he hurried away. “ ’Tis 
about that last parcel of cloth, I dare swear, though 
’tis strange the Lord Abbot, himself should trouble. 
You may copy me these two pages whilst I am 
gone; there is nothing like work for making the 
time pass.” 

I was still at my task, though I went at it not 


MV LORD ABBOT. 


143 


with the best grace in the world, when Master 
Surbeck returned in a state of most unusual ex- 
citement, crying out almost before he was in the 
room: 

“ Cap to head. Monsieur Jean, and come with 
me quickly. To think we have been searching the 
town through, and all the time it hath lain at our 
very doors.” 

“ Is it about my business, then, they wanted 
you?” and I jumped to my feet, nearly upsetting 
the hated ink-horn. 

“ Truly it is, my friend; come, we must not keep 
them waiting. Amand, if any come for me I am 
waiting on the holy fathers at the convent.” Then, 
as we turned into the street, “ The Governor spoke 
of the matter to the Abbot last night, and this morn- 
ing they send for me. There is a second one there, 
my Lord Abbot of St. Edmunds, one of the great 
houses in England, and ’tis he knows of your fa- 
ther. Mark him well, friend Jean, he has an eye 
can read you through; see that you speak only the 
truth. A word in your ear though; I said as little 
about the brigands as might be, I dwelt mainly upon 
Father Felix.” 

By this time we had reached the convent gate. 
The porter surveyed us through the grille, and we 
were admitted directly. I had never been inside 
the walls before, and was struck with astonishment 
at what I saw around me. The inclosure was so 
vast, the houses so many, it seemed like a little 
city in itself. There was the great monastery, a 
tall stately building, standing alone in the centre; 
there was the chapel, a goodly edifice, indeed, and 


144 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


cloisters and schools, and many other erections I 
knew not the uses of. 

It was familiar ground to Master Surbeck, how- 
ever, and he made his way at once across a walk of 
soft sward to a side door of the monastery, where 
we found a monk awaiting us. 

We were taken then, after passing through sev- 
eral passages, into an inner cloister, where many 
monks were engaged in various occupations. Not 
one of them looked up, neither was there the slight- 
est murmur of voices; indeed, throughout the whole 
place there was stillness that might almost be felt. 
I trod softly as I could, yet my footsteps seemed to 
wake the echoes. The Abbot had his good monks 
well in hand, I trow, or else extra discipline was 
observed on account of the stranger. We stopped 
at length in a small, bare anteroom, where we 
waited, whilst our conductor went into a room be- 
yond. He returned almost directly, made a sign 
that we were to enter, then closed the door softly 
behind us. 

The room we were now in was of some size, the 
walls covered with pictured tapestry, the windows 
filled with stained glass, through which the flicker- 
ing sunbeams cast strange hues upon the floor. 
But after my first glance round I took little heed 
of the surroundings, my whole attention was con- 
centrated upon the two churchmen who sat side by 
side at the upper end. One was stout and comfort- 
able looking, with well-filled cheeks and unwrinkled 
brows; little sign of fast or vigil was there about 
him. The other, whom I guessed at once to be my 
man, was tall and spare, with deep-set penetrating 


MV LORD ABBOT. 


HS 


grey eyes, and a sharp, decisive manner. The Eng- 
lish abbot started visibly when he first caught sight 
of me, as I fell on my knees beside Master Surbeck ; 
then, bending forward with a “ By your leave, 
brother,” he signed to me to come forward. He 
watched keenly as I advanced, and, even when I 
stood before him, gazed at me hard and long with- 
out speaking. What it might portend I knew not, 
but for a few moments his features worked strangely. 
When the mood passed, as if ashamed of his emo- 
tion, his manner grew sterner than ever, and he 
addressed me in a haughty tone of command, “ Your 
name, sirrah?” 

“ Jean, son of John of Strathbourne.” 

“ Halt, there! You go too fast, knave; that re- 
mains to be seen.” 

“ Tis writ so in the letter, holy father.” 

“Ah! the letter; you have brought it. Give it 
to me ; I have seen as yet but a villainous copy.” 

I handed it to him without another word, and, 
after one quick glance at the writing, he turned his 
head aside, so that I could not see his face whilst 
he read. The other churchman took no part in the 
matter. He sat with an air of quiet indifference, 
his sleepy brown eyes full of a dreamy content, re- 
minding me of an ox chewing the cud. When my 
Lord of St. Edmunds had finished reading the let- 
ter, and, for such a short epistle, it took him a won- 
drous long time, he turned to me again, saying 
sharply, “ And now, boy, you would-be gentleman, 
for your story. Not a word false, mind, or I will 
have your tongue branded with hot irons.” 

“ Craving your pardon, holy father,” I answered 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


146 

boldly, for, spite of his harsh words, there was a 
look in his eyes I thought meant me well, “ if my 
father were noble born, and I his lawful son, I am 
a gentleman; there is no would-be in the matter 
at all. Whether it is so or no is for wiser heads 
than mine to find out. I but crave to know the 
truth.” 

“Ay, the truth, the truth; that is what we all 
want. Out with your story, my son, and have done 
with it.” 

My Lord Abbot listened intently to what I had 
to say concerning my father’s death, and all that 
Mere Tapin had told me, exclaiming more than 
once, “ Ay, it tallies, it tallies! ” and cross-questioned 
me so closely that, had I been trying to deceive 
him, I had been caught at once. My later life he 
cared little about, and stopped me impatiently be- 
fore I got to the brigands. 

“ Enough, enough I ” he cried, “ that may come 
later, at present our business is with John of Strath- 
bourne. The letter has been long on the way, but 
it has reached the right hands at last. It was written 
to me before I became an unworthy servant of Holy 
Church. Strathbourne was my sworn friend, my 
companion at arms. If you are cheating me, boy, 
you will have reason to curse the hour you were 
born. The ring you speak of — the ring you say 
you lost — what arms did it bear? ” 

“No arms at all, holy father, simply two letters 
inclosed in a heart. I cannot even say what thq^ 
were, for I lost it before I learned to read, and can- 
not recollect them. Mere Tapin took it from around 
the knight’s neck; it was too small to go upon his 


MV LORD ABBOT, 


147 

finger. A friend to whom I once showed it thought 
it might have been a woman’s ring of betrothal.” 

“ And he was right, if your tale be true — that is, 
it belonged to your mother. I have seen it often; 
I remember the bauble well. I shall know more 
about this matter shortly, I hope, and will send for 
you again. Meantime, he is best with you. Master 
Surbeck. I will be at his charges.” And with that 
we were dismissed. 

I went away with my hopes raised high. I felt 
sure fortune was smiling upon me at last. I thought 
even a little of the demoiselle. I doubted not but 
that her forced marriage had been dissolved long 
ago. Still, if all went well, some day I would seek 
her out. She should know that I was not the mean 
churl she had thought me — then the remembrance 
of the past need not shame her. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE END OF JACQUES TAPIN. 

A WEEK elapsed before I was sent for to the 
convent again. Then I found my lord abbot with 
another companion, none other, indeed, than the 
knight of the inn. He seemed rather surprised to 
see me enter the room, but came forward at once, 
saying heartily: 

“ Well met, my good friend. I began to fear 1 
had lost you. But how came you to seek me here? 
I have been looking for you at my lodging every 
day.” 

Then, without giving me time to answer, he 
turned to the abbot with: 

“This is he of whom I spoke to you, my lord; 
he who struck such a good blow for me at the 
tavern.” 

“ And it is he of whom I spoke to you,” returned 
the churchman; “ I sent for him but just now. 
Have done with your tavern broils, I pray you, 
and attend to the matter in hand. Stand there, 
Jean; there, where the light falls clearly. Now, 
tell me, Caryl, does his visage remind you of no 
one?” 

“ Faith, it does, my lord. He reminds me 
148 


THE END OF JACQUES TAP IN. 


149 

mightily of my poor young brother, who came to 
so untimely an end before Jedburgh.” 

“ Go to, he is the very marrow of John Strath- 
bourne as he was when we fought side by side. 
When I first set eyes upon the youth the years rolled 
back. Almost I thought I was young again.” 

“ Then there can be no doubt about the matter,” 
and, coming to my side, the knight took my hand. 

“ Jean — if that be your name — ^Jean, do you 
know we are akin? Far off it may be, but as we 
are such good friends already, I must even dub you 
cousin. Cousin Jean, I give you welcome.” 

“ Not quite so fast, I pray you,” broke in my 
Lord of St. Edmunds, resuming his sterner manner. 
“ If I have shown you my heart, ’tis that you, ay ! 
and the youth also, may know how I feel in the 
matter. But nothing must be done in haste, all 
must be proved beyond cavil. At the time of his 
disappearance I sought for the Knight of Strath- 
bourne far and wide, and I know that the child' was 
with him. ’Twas a strange fancy he had, after his 
wife’s death; the boy accompanied him everywhere. 
I am waiting but for one more witness. If he be 
still on earth, he will be here soon, and the rack 
will drag the truth from him. I give this youth 
into your charge now. Teach him how to bear 
himself when his birth is acknowledged; until then 
he had best remain unseen. Now go, I would be 
alone.” 

As I knelt to kiss my Lord Abbot’s hand, with 
tears in my eyes, I strove to stammer out some 
words of gratitude. But he checked me with, “ My 
son, this is for your father’s sake. Bear yourself 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


150 

now so that in future it may be for your own and, 
raising his hands, he gave me his blessing and bade 
me depart in peace. 

I left the convent in company with Sir Paul 
Caryl, and directly we were outside the gates he 
cried joyfully: 

“ Jean, my kinsman, you are lucky indeed; many 
a young noble would give half his revenues to stand 
in your shoes this day. Know you that your friend, 
the holy father, we have just left is high in favour 
with my Lord Cardinal Wolsey, the greatest man in 
England? ” 

“ Nay, I know nothing,” I answered. I am 
ignorant even of my own tongue. Truly, it all 
seems to me like a dream. I fear lest I wake up 
presently and find I have fallen asleep over my 
lesson with Father Felix.” 

“ You will wake up fast enough when you find 
yourself, lance in hand, in the tilt-yard. I will give 
you my first lessons myself; f know you will be an 
apt pupil. As to English, that is of no consequence, 
since all gentlemen speak French among them- 
selves. You need but enough to give orders to the 
men, and that is easily learnt. Canst ride? Dost 
know how to handle a horse? That is of much 
more consequence than English or books.” 

“ I can ride and handle a horse; ay! and groom 
him, too, after service; have they not told you I 
was a horse-boy? But let me know, I pray you, 
something of my father, and how I come to be of 
kin to you.” 

It was a long story, as Sir Paul told it, for he 
gave me the history of my family from the time of 


THE END OF JACQUES TAP IN. 


15I 

William the Norman. It will suffice if I say here 
that the Glovers, my family name, after having once 
been a power in the land, had sunk and dwindled 
until my father, the last of his race, held only one 
small estate, from which he derived his title of Knight 
of Strathbourne. Twas but an old tower, with a 
few barren acres adjoining, and even this he sold 
when his wife died, and crossed the water to seek 
better fortune in France. My father had always 
been a soldier, he had served both in Italy and 
Flanders, and had received his knighthood upon the 
field of battle from the hands of the Emperor him- 
self. Sir Paul’s mother had been of distant kin to 
my mother, that was the only relationship between 
us; it was out of his kindness that he called me 
cousin. 

I now took leave of worthy Master Surbeck, 
the Abbot of St. Edmunds rewarding him richly 
for what he had done for me; and, leaving Calais 
for a time, I went to lodge at the little town of 
Guisnes, a few miles distant, where was a great 
forest. Here I could pursue my first exercises 
unobserved, my friend, the Lord Abbot, provid'ng 
my equipments. It was Sir Paul who counselled 
my going to Guisnes; he advised it for the sake of 
privacy, until I learned how to bear myself. I was 
well content it should be so. I had no wish to 
shame my new friends by my ignorance. I now 
wore armour constantly to accustom myself to its 
weight, and, tutored by an old trooper my good 
cousin gave me for servant, I spent hours every 
day practising with lance, and sword, and dagger, 
until I was adroit enough to show myself in the tilt- 


152 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

yard. Do not suppose, however, I was left only to 
old Aubin. 

Sir Paul rode over nearly every day to break a 
lance with me in some quiet glade, and as soon as 
ever the time came he presented me to his friends. 
I owe a great deal to Sir Paul Caryl. I learnt from 
him to dress, to walk, to move with ease, to bear 
myself as a gentleman should; in a word. Sir Paul 
completed what Father Felix began. All this, of 
course, was not the work of a day, but I set it down 
here to have done with it. And it may be as well 
to say that as time went on, I took my part in the 
joust, and in all things where mere strength was 
concerned I held my own well. But in grace and 
dexterity, in the lightness of aim and bearing, which 
shows the really accomplished knight, I was always 
sadly lacking; my education had begun too late. 

I was still at Guisnes, when one day a messenger 
arrived ordering me to wait upon my Lord Abbot 
at the Governor’s house in Calais. By this I knew 
something important was in the wind, and put on 
one of my new suits — murrey-coloured velvet it 
was, I remember, slashed with tawny — with a short 
cloak to match. I had also a fine jewel in my 
plumed cap, a present from Sir Paul, and my long 
sword hung from a gold-embroidered baldrick. 
“ Fine feathers make fine birds,” I thought to my- 
self as I rode gaily along, old Aubin and another 
servant following me. “ If only the demoiselle 
could see me now, I doubt if she would recognise 
Jean the horse-boy.” 

On arriving at the Governor’s house, I was de- 
sired to wait a while in the outer hall, where I was 


THE END OF JACQUES TAPIN. 


153 


treated as a person of consideration. Afterwards 
I was ushered into the presence of the Governor 
and the Abbot of St. Edmunds, who were seated on 
a dais at the upper end of the room, with three 
men in black robes writing- at a table near them. 
Many other people were present — gentlemen of the 
household, officers of justice, knights with their 
squires and pages — and directly I entered, all with 
one accord turned their gaze upon me. I should 
have felt much abashed, my new position as yet 
fitted me awkwardly, only my new kinsman. Sir 
Paul Caryl, came at once to my side. He led me 
up to the Governor, a grizzled old warrior of about 
sixty, and presented me as the gentleman whose 
business they were discussing. The Governor gave 
me one sharp look, spoke a few words softly to my 
Lord Abbot, then bade me in a courteous tone to 
stand aside. 

All in the room were strangely silent. If anyone 
did mutter a word it was in a whisper; naught was 
to be heard save the scratching of the scribes’ pens. 
Whilst I was wondering what it meant, suddenly the 
silence was broken by the echo of a prolonged 
scream — a scream as of one in dire agony. It 
seemed to come from far away, or else shut in by 
thick walls, but it was loud enough to startle me not 
a little. Everyone else, however, heard it with the 
utmost unconcern, the Abbot and the Governor 
even exchanging glances of satisfaction. Once 
again the dreadful cries came louder even than be- 
fore, this time a quick succession of howls and 
groans, so horrible as to be scarcely human. Then 
followed a sudden silence, and all was still as death. 


II 


154 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


I guessed now what was happening. Some poor 
wretch was being stretched upon the rack; was 
being tortured until his veins burst. Why I had 
been sent for, what it had to do with me, was not 
so easily explained. After a time, a long time as 
it seemed to me, a door at the end of the hall was 
opened, and an officer with a paper in his hand ap- 
proached the Governor. 

“ He hath confessed, my lord, at last,” he said, 
speaking loudly, so that all might hear. “ Every 
word of it agrees with what we have set down al- 
ready.” 

The Abbot and the Governor took the paper 
eagerly, and both bent over to read it at the same 
time, their heads almost touching. 

“ It will do well,” said the Governor, when he 
had come to the end. “ Twas an obstinate varlet, 
but we have got the truth from him at last. Bring 
him hither at once. Can he stand? ” 

“ I fear not, my lord.” 

“ Let him be carried, then, and see you that the 
gallows be in readiness outside; we shall not keep 
him long.” 

The officer made his obeisance and departed, but 
there was scarce time for a hum of conversation to 
begin before a shuffling sound was heard in the 
passage, and four attendants entered bearing a man 
upon a hand-litter. This they set down in front of 
the dais, and the Governor beckoned me to ap- 
proach. 

“Know you aught of this fellow, young sir?” 
he asked. “ Can you put a name to him? ” 

A cloth, already stained with blood, had been 


THE END OF JACQUES TAPIN, 


155 


thrown over the lower limbs of the poor wretch, 
but his face was uncovered, and in those ashen 
features, yet damp with the sweat of pain, I recog- 
nised my old enemy, Jacques Tapin, the murderer 
of my father. I recoiled involuntarily, and I sup- 
pose my expression showed somewhat, of what I 
felt, for the Governor cried sharply : “ He is known 
to you, I see, but speak out; we would have the 
dog’s name.” 

“ It is Jacques Tapin, the charcoal burner,” I 
muttered, my horror changing almost to pity, as I 
saw what the unhappy man had suffered. 

“ Jacques Tapin, husband of the woman who 
confessed to you the manner of the Knight of 
Strathbourne’s death? He whom she accused of 
the murder? ” 

“Ay, it is he!” I repeated. “No doubt about 
that, I should know him anywhere.” 

“ And you, Jacques Tapin, do you know this 
gentleman? Stand nearer, young sir; he cannot 
turn his head, stoop a little over him.” 

I did as they bade me, but when those lack- 
lustre eyes met mine there was no sign of recogni- 
tion, only a sort of dull surprise. 

“ Speak out, dog,” thundered the Governor, 
“ lest you find your way back to the rack again.” 

“ I know him not,” whispered the man faintly, 
“ save that he hath a look of the English knight I 
killed so long ago.” 

“ Think again, Jacques,” I said. “ Have you 
quite forgotten the little Jean? ” 

“ Jean— are you he?” and, forgetting his hurts, 
he strove to raise himself. “ Then ’tis to you I owe 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


156 

this — may a thousand curses light upon your head, 

may you — may you ” and his voice died away, 

though he still kept muttering curses inaudibly. 

I shrank back appalled, his words were nothing; 
but his expression of malignancy was fearful to 
witness. The Governor interposed again. 

“ Jacques Tapin, do you recognise this gentle- 
man as the boy Jean, or no? ” 

There was a short pause while the miserable 
creature struggled for breath. “ How can I tell?’’ 
he answered at last. “ Jean was but a child when I 
kicked him out — may the foul fiend take his soul 
wherever he be. If ’tis Jean he has a scar on one 
foot where I threw the axe; would to Heaven it had 
killed him outright. I did my best but I ” 

He broke off suddenly, his short-lived strength 
was exhausted, and he spoke no more. 

“You have this scar?” asked the Governor, 
turning to me. 

“ Yes, my lord, the mark is there still.” 

“ Bare your foot that it may be duly witnessed 
and entered upon the depositions; then I think all 
is settled.” 

The attendants removed my boot and hose, the 
scar was formally examined, then the proceedings 
came to an end. 

Jacques Tapin, half dead already, was taken 
away to be hung. The Governor and the Lord 
Abbot — whom I had to thank for it all — then con- 
gratulated me, Sir Paul presented me to his friends, 
and everyone made much of me. Of course it was 
not for my own sake ; I knew that well enough, but 
was I not under the protection of my Lord of St. 


THE END OF JACQUES TAPIN, 


157 


Edmunds, who, in his turn, was a friend of Cardinal 
Wolsey? I have no doubt but that my uncouth 
ways and lack of knowledge provoked many smiles 
behind my back. All the same it was pleasant not 
to be looked upon as an upstart, to be made free 
of the company at once. 

I quitted Guisnes soon after this, and took up 
my quarters with Sir Paul, and it was then that he 
asked me by what name I would choose to be 
known. 

“ You may use either Glover or Strathbourne, 
which you will,” he said ; “ you have a right to 
both.” 

“ Strathbourne, most assuredly,” I answered at 
once. “ I will be John of Strathbourne as my father 
was before me.” 

“ That will please my Lord of St. Edmunds well. 
When you win your spurs I should not be surprised 
if he bought you back your old estate with a few 
fat acres added on to it. I met my lord at the 
Governor’s last night, and he intrusted me with 
a message. His business here is nearly concluded, 
he will soon be returning to England. If your 
wishes run that way he will take you in his train, 
and do his best to push your fortunes. Or you 
may remain here with me as my esquire, and take 
your chance of what Fate sends you. Now King 
Francis is free again we shall not rust in idleness 
for long. These are stirring times. With France 
or against her, it matters not which, there will be 
plenty of blows going shortly.” 

“ Then I do not hesitate for a moment,” I replied 
gratefully. “ If it is in accordance with the wishes 


158 


JOHN OF STRATHBOUKNE. 


of my Lord Abbot, to serve as your esquire would 
be only too great an honour for me, that is, if you 
are not afraid of my inexperience.” 

“ I am not afraid,” and he laughed cheerily. 
“ Remember we have fought side by side once 
already. By the way, I settled accounts with both 
those young gentlemen; I doubt if they are even 
yet risen from their beds. Your friend in green 
had already had enough of it; you have spoilt his 
good looks for all time. But now to my Lord of 
St. Edmunds, and tell him of your decision; he 
means, I know, to allow you a fair sum for main- 
tenance. If we go soon into Italy, as I hear 
rumours, there will be a chance for you to win your 
spurs.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


IN THE FIELD. 

Sir Paul Caryl was not wrong when he said 
those were stirring times, though the years fly so 
fast that already have they passed into history. I 
had been my cousin’s esquire a bare three months, 
when the sack of Rome by Bourbon’s brigands 
stirred all Europe, and England and France entered 
into an alliance to set the Pope free. Our King 
Harry, who had not many troops to spare, agreed 
to provide the greater part of the money, whilst 
Francis found the men. 

Sir Paul, though he had wife and children at 
home, threw up his cap like any beardless boy 
when war was at last declared; he was so tired of 
remaining in idleness at Calais. The French army, 
under Odet de Foix, Lord of Lautrec, was to cross 
the Alps as soon as possible; and, by favour of my 
Lord of St. Edmunds, he received permission to join 
as a volunteer. 

“ If I bring a few score of stout fellows, be sure 
King Francis will give me command of a company,” 
he cried, “ so bestir yourself, sir squire, and rout me 
out every unemployed soldier in Calais. Promise 
them fair pay, and a good share of the plunder; it 
159 


l6o JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

will go hard with us if we cannot catch some crows 
worth the plucking.” 

I spare you all the mighty preparations of the 
next month, and how, with Aubin’s aid, I got to- 
gether a body of stout Englishmen, who afterwards 
did us good service. Then, with Sir Paul’s pennon 
leading the van, and our little army of spears bris- 
tling behind, we marched across France to join the 
main army. 

One thing I did, however, before starting; I de- 
stroyed my marriage contract. I was loth to part 
with it, loth to break the one link that still bound 
me to the demoiselle, but I had no choice. If aught 
happened to me on the field of battle I could not 
tell into whose hands it might fall. Therefore, to 
make all safe, I burnt the paper to the last scrap, 
and strewed the ashes to the winds. 

We stayed for a few days in Paris — which I now 
saw under very different auspices — until Sir Paul 
obtained from King Francis command of a com- 
pany of men-at-arms. It was given to him almost 
for the asking, so anxious was the French King to 
please the English; Cardinal Wolsey being, even 
then, on the road to Paris to negotiate a fresh 
treaty. This favour raised a great jealousy against 
my cousin, which, in the end, had liked to have 
proved our undoing. At the time, however, we did 
not know of this, and, as soon as possible, he hurried 
on by forced marches to reach the army, being 
eager to take up his command before it crossed 
the Alps. I have not told you anything of the gay 
doings at Paris, of the fHcs the King gave — at all 
of which I was present — nor,i how strange it often 


IN THE FIELD. 


i6i 


seemed to me, that I, the brigands’ horse-boy, the 
priest’s serving-man, should be ruffling it with the 
best. If I speak of it at all it is only to show that 
my time at Calais had not been thrown away. My 
kinsman could take me into the company even of 
noble ladies, and I did not make him feel ashamed. 
Not that I ever attained the smoothness of a cour- 
tier. I was always a soldier, rough and plain; 
but I passed in the crowd; no one took notice 
of me. 

On the way we halted for one night, not very far 
from my old village of Cleville, and, when my duties 
were performed, I rode over to pay a visit to Father 
Felix. I was anxious to make the good old man 
acquainted with my happy fortune, and thank him 
anew for all his kindness to me. Alas! he was 
gone, and a stranger filled his place, a round plump 
little priest, whose rubicund visage showed signs of 
the wine-bottle. Father Felix had died some three 
months after my departure. He caught the pesti- 
lence, whilst ministering to the needs of his people, 
and in a few days all was over. It was a sore blow 
to me, and I rode away sad at heart. But youth 
is ever selfish, and in the bustle of the march I fear 
he was soon forgotten. 

I do not think I need set down any particulars 
of the first part of our march into Italy. We joined 
Lautrec in good time, crossed the Alps without 
more than the usual difficulty, and, marching to- 
wards the Papal States, took and ravaged such hos- 
tile towns as came in our way. It was before one 
of these that the trouble began. 

Sir Paul had been dissatisfied for some time with 


1 62 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

the treatment he received from Marshal Lautrec. 
Our troop was kept always in the rear; unless, in- 
deed, nothing but hard blows were expected, when 
we were sent to the front readily enough. But were 
any renown to be gotten, were there any chance 
of plunder or of knightly prisoners who could be 
put to ransom, some excuse was sure to be found 
for ordering us elsewhere. The men grumbled 
openly. It was as much as I could do to keep our 
Englishmen in order; they saw too plainly that 
whilst they did the work, others received the re- 
ward. The true reason of this leaked out gradually. 
Marshal Lautrec had destined the company be- 
stowed upon Sir Paul for a friend of his own. He 
disliked my kinsman for being an Englishman, dis- 
liked him still more for taking his friend’s place, 
and wanted to be quit of him. He would not affront 
him openly; my cousin had too many friends at 
court for that, and outwardly the marshal was most 
courteous. Everything was put down to the score 
of military necessity, and, as Sir Paul had engaged 
to serve under Lautrec, he had no choice but to 
obey. 

Still this did not render him any the less dis- 
satisfied, especially as there was a great deal going 
on during this insignificant siege he could not 
understand. For one thing, the town was but a 
small place, we had plenty of artillery, it could have 
been taken in a day. Yet we remained encamped 
before it for nearly a week, wasting valuable time 
and demoralising the army. 

At last, one morning, there was a great move- 
ment in the camp, trumpets sounded, horses were 


IN THE FIELD. 


163 

harnessed, . preparations were making all around, 
not — to my astonishment — for an assault, but for 
departure. Our company alone remained idle, for 
they had received no orders. Sir Paul had been 
summoned to wait upon the marshal. Of late, since 
I had some practice in the field, my cousin had 
made me second in command. I now had the bag- 
gage packed, the tents prepared for removal at a 
moment’s notice, and the men under arms, ready 
either for marching or for fighting. Time went on; 
the van-guard of the army was already in motion; 
not a tent, save ours, remained on the plain, and 
still Sir Paul came not. At length, to my joy, for 
I began to fear something had happened, he came 
toward us at full gallop and waving me aside, as I 
advanced to meet him, pulled up in front of the 
troop. He looked very discomposed, I thought, 
at first glance, but, as he halted, his face cleared, 
and speaking, in ringing tones, that all could 
hear: 

“ My men,” he cried, “ I have good news for 
you. Our noble commander thinks we have scarce 
had our fair share of plunder lately ” — at this there 
arose such a loud murmur of assent he was forced 
to hold up his hand for silence, then he continued: 
“ My Lord the Marshal has been good enough to 
leave the town yonder for us. Ours is to be the 
glory of taking it, and, whether we hold it to ran- 
som or give it up to plunder, all the booty is to us. 
Meanwhile, until I have had time to make the neces- 
sary dispositions, back to quarters, where a double 
ration of wine will be served out to each one of 


you. 


164 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


This put the men into high good humour, as you 
may suppose, and, without troubling themselves as 
to how the project was to be carried through, they 
gave a loud cheer for the brave English captain; 
then broke up to seek their wine. Nor was I in 
the least perturbed. I doubted not but that terms 
had been already made, and that the town was on 
the point of surrendering. I was quickly unde- 
ceived, however, for, presently, waiting on Sir 
Paul in his tent, I found him pacing to and fro 
in hot anger. When he saw my look of surprise 
he stopped short and burst into a fit of bitter 
laughter. 

“How now, Jean?” he cried, “you seemed as 
pleased just now as the simple knaves. Think you 
we have but to knock at the gates over yonder and 
they will be opened to us? ” 

“ Something of the kind, yes,” I replied boldly; 
“ since it would be beyond our power to do other- 
wise. The last of the artillery was filing off as I 
came in, and not a gun has been fired against the 
walls. We are not expected to remain here, I sup- 
pose, with our hands folded.” 

“ That is just it, Jean; you have hit the right nail 
on the head. We are expected to sit here with 
our hands folded. My Lord of Lautrec hath re- 
ceived letters speeding him on his way; he cannot 
stay to reduce the town, neither can he leave it un- 
guarded in his rear. My one company will be 
strong enough to hold it in check, he tells me ; there 
is no fear of any sortie. My orders are to remain 
encamped here until the town yields, or we receive 
the necessary reinforcements to enable us to take it. 


IN THE FIELD. 


165 

As neither event is in the least likely to happen, it 
means that we are planted here until the campaign 
is over.” 

“ Is it the marshal’s way of getting rid of you? ” 
I asked, my face falling long as a hatchet. Here 
was an end, indeed, of my fine dreams of glory and 
renown. 

“ You have hit it again. Yet he might have 
accomplished his design in more honourable fash- 
ion. Nor did the marshal even stop at this. Know- 
ing that the troops left here were as good as wasted, 
he wanted to rob me of my Englishmen and give 
me rabble. He had heard rumours, said my lord 
blandly, that my men were discontented, that their 
greed for plunder had not been satisfied. He would 
take them on with him and give me an equal num- 
ber of lands-knechts instead. And from a glance 
that passed between them he meant Vigo’s men, I 
vow, the most disorderly scum in the whole army. 
It had been talked over and agreed upon I could 
see.” 

“ You did not consent? ” I exclaimed, in dismay,* 
for the English were the men I could most rely 
upon; they were the backbone of the whole com- 
pany. 

“ No, by St. George, else were I the craven he 
seems to think me. I consented to remain as he 
commanded, because such were the conditions of 
my service; I was to take my orders from Marshal 
Lautrec. But duty carried me no further, though 
I kept my temper, and did not allow him to put 
me in the wrong. I told him the Englishmen grum- 
bled no more than the others; unfortunately, there 


1 66 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

was a feeling among them all that they had not been 
treated fairly, but I had them well in hand, and could 
answer for their good behaviour. As for changing 
my English knaves for German lands-knechts, with 
all due deference to my lord’s wishes, I would pre- 
fer to keep them. Still he persisted, he wanted them 
sorely, my brave little handful, and I had been so 
submissive, he thought he had but to press the 
matter and it was done. By Heaven, I would give 
much to speak my mind to him for just five min- 
utes, then stand before him sword in hand,” and 
Sir Paul smote the bench in his anger until it 
shook under him. “ Again, I kept my temper, Jean ; 
’twas my lord abbot taught me that, and I pass it 
on to you; give not your adversary an advantage 
by losing your temper. I answered my lord fairly, 
but my meaning was plain enough. If he robbed 
me of my best men I would throw up my com- 
mand, and carry my tale with all speed to King 
Francis. My Lord of Lautrec saw then he had 
gone too far, he drew back, and we parted on the 
♦best of terms. The dastard, the knave, to treat a 
gentleman thus! I will be even with him, Jean; we 
must take this town.” 

I stared in astonishment, thinking Sir Paul’s 
anger had affected his wits. But he meant what 
he said. 

“ Ay, I am in earnest, lad. Not by open force, 
that, of course, is out of the question; but by 
stratagem or starvation, or by bribing those within. 
I will have it if it costs my life. Leave me now 
and let me think. Mind, I look to you to help me 
with the men. Each one of them will have to do 


IN THE FIELD, 


167 


the work of three, and yet they must be kept in 
good humour. Feed them well, keep the foraging 
parties at work ; that will go a long way towards it.” 
And with that I left him to think out his plans 
alone. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE SIEGE. 

Two weeks more passed, and the situation was 
unchanged, save that we had to ride farther and 
farther afield to find victualling. We had established 
a cordon found the town as far as we could with 
our scanty numbers; and though we knew well 
that messengers contrived to slip in and out, at least 
no convoy could get through, so their food supplies 
must in time come to an end. Also, we managed 
to deceive them very neatly, lest they should at- 
tempt to sally out and attack us. Leaving only the 
sentries, we sent the men quietly out of the camp, 
two or three at a time, to assemble at an appointed 
spot; then they marched back again with noise of 
trumpets and sham pennons flying, as if we had 
been reinforced by an army. Afterwards Sir Paul 
sent me with a herald and a flag of truce to summon 
them to surrender. But the commander was too 
old a hand to be thus cheated. He knew we had 
no artillery, and, save that he was polite, would have 
laughed in my face. His answer was sharp and to 
the point. “ Tell your captain to make a breach in 
my walls, sir squire; then I will talk of surrender- 
ing.” 


i68 


THE SIEGE. 


169 

In spite of this, my errand was very far from 
being fruitless. I spoke to the Governor from with- 
out the walls; I was not admitted inside, and, whilst 
waiting his arrival, I scrutinised the ground closely. 
To enable you to understand what followed, it will 
be necessary to explain something of the configura- 
tion of the town. Though a place of small size, en- 
circled on three sides by a wide river, it was sur- 
rounded with lofty walls, intersected with massive 
towers, and every gate was strongly fortified. On 
one side, where the river almost washed the walls, 
rose the citadel, its high commanding battlements 
towering over both town within and plain without. 
Our camp was on the open side of the town, with 
the river to right and left of us, but the principal 
gate was beneath the citadel, where had once been 
a massive stone bridge. This had been destroyed on 
our approach; only a few of the arches remained. 

When I took the flag of truce I rode to the gate 
nearest our camp, where, after a little parleying, I 
was directed to ride on, for the Governor would 
answer me from the citadel. We had never been 
able to get close to this part of the wall before; 
the river was too deep to be forded, and, besides, 
a well-directed fire from the battlements kept us 
always at a distance. The Governor kept me some 
time before he made his appearance — the better, I 
suppose, to assert his dignity — and whilst waiting 
I scanned the walls, idly at first, and then with keen 
observation. To my surprise, the citadel was built 
partly upon a rock, which at this point took the 
place of the wall — a steep, almost perpendicular cliff, 
surmounted by a crenulated rampart. I gazed upon 
12 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


170 

it eagerly. The clif¥ looked inaccessible, yet I 
thought I had climbed as steep. Given a dark 
night and a careless guard, I did not think the feat 
impossible. What to do when the summit was 
gained was not quite so easy to tell. The alarm 
given, the doors closed below, we should be caught 
like rats in a trap. And another thing, before think- 
ing of surprising the citadel, it would first be neces- 
sary to reach it. We could not pass beneath the 
walls as I had just done; so sharp a watch was kept, 
especially at night, that the slightest movement was 
discovered. But here beneath the citadel they might 
not be so vigilant; they would rely upon the pro- 
tection of the river. 

The Governor still failing to appear, I yawned 
and turned slowly round, with my back to the 
citadel, as if weary of waiting. I had the river 
before my eyes now, and the broken bridge close 
beneath me. The stream was at its narrowest here, 
the banks having been artificially raised to keep the 
water from flooding. That at this point it was too 
deep to ford, the current too strong to swim, I knew 
already, but the well-served citadel guns had always 
prevented us from examining more closely. I saw 
now that the destruction of the bridge had been 
very thorough, only a single arch remaining on one 
side to show what once had been. On the other 
side, however, part of the lower masonry was still 
standing, an uneven ledge, a few inches wide, just 
above the surface of the water. A spear’s length 
from each shore it broke off short, but there were 
no gaps in the centre. 

I had barely time to note all this when the Gov- 


THE SIEGE, 


171 

ernor and his attendants came out upon the battle- 
ments, and summarily dismissed me as I have said. 
Still, I had seen a good deal, and when I returned 
I reported to Sir Paul, and told him how I thought 
it might be possible to surprise the citadel. He 
listened eagerly at first, but shook his head when 
he heard how I proposed to cross the river. For a 
small body to effect a diversion it might answer, 
he thought; for the whole troop it would be impos- 
sible. I urged him to allow me to make a trial at 
least, and he gave way, commanding me only to use 
every caution. 

That was all I wanted, permission just to try 
my plan, and I picked out a couple of men to ac- 
company me. I would have taken old Aubin — 
he was so quick to understand, so thoroughly to be 
depended upon — but I feared his joints were too 
stiff for the work in hand. I took, therefore, an- 
other Englishman instead, a man who would follow 
where I led; for the other I chose my sergeant, an 
agile Swiss, skilled in mountain climbing. For in 
our small company we had men of all nations; be- 
sides our own English, there were French, Swiss, 
Germans, and Italians. Only we had no Spanish. 
They were on the other side; they fought always 
for the Emperor. 

My two men were perfectly willing to help me 
in my enterprise, especially as I promised them a 
good reward, and the following night we stole 
quietly out of camp and made for the bend of the 
river. The part I was most doubtful about met 
us at the beginning. The broken parapet was much 
farther from land on our side than on the other. 


172 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


The question was, could we hit upon it in the dark- 
ness, or should we be carried down by the current? 
I explained before we started exactly what each one 
was to do, and directly we reached the river side, 
with a rope round my waist, I entered the water 
to show the way and give my followers confidence. 
They held the other end of the rope until I jerked 
it thrice to show I was safe, when they were to 
fasten it to a spearhead in the bank and it would 
serve to guide them. We were clad only in our 
buff; all armour had been left behind, both to avoid 
noise, and that we might be less encumbered. We 
did not even carry swords, nothing but the dagger 
each wore in his belt; and our boots we fastened 
round our necks, lest they should fill with water 
and sink us. 

The water was above my knees at once, then to 
my waist, and as I waded steadily on, bearing always 
against the current, it came up to my arm-pits, and 
I feared I should be swept away. But I had kept 
my course well. I could see the broken parapet 
looming through the darkness only a few paces 
ahead. I pressed forward; I could almost touch 
it when I struck my knee against a block of sub- 
merged masonry with such violence as to knock 
me over. Happily, I threw out my arms as I fell, 
and just caught the edge of the parapet. Here I 
hung for a few moments, half insensible. In falling 
my head had come in contact with the stone, and 
the shock had stunned me. I had sense enough left, 
however, to cling fast ; and the blood trickling down 
my face, and the cold water about my legs, soon re- 
vived me. 


THE SIEGE. 


173 


It was a nasty fall, but I had gained the parapet. 
That was the chief thing, and, as soon as my under- 
standing came back, I crawled a little farther and 
jerked the rope. It was easier for my companions, 
they had the rope to hold by — I had made it fast 
my end — and when Bouquet, the Swiss, came in 
sight, I warned him of the sunken stone. He passed 
the word on to Jervis, and both reached my side 
without mishap. We were now about a fourth of 
the way over, clinging to the remains of the para- 
pet, a slender thread of stone, scarce seven inches 
in width, and so little above the level of the water 
that every now and then it washed over us. We 
crawled along this face downwards, stretched out 
full length, and holding on like grim death for our 
lives. I was very glad, I can tell you, when we 
reached the end; my bruised knee did not make it 
any easier for me. There was not much difficulty in 
landing. We were so near the bank when the para- 
pet ended that the water came scarce to our waists. 
The danger now was the risk of discovery. We 
were fairly within the enemy's lines, the alarm might 
be given any moment. Heaven be praised, nothing 
happened; we reached the shore unperceived, and 
threw ourselves flat among the bushes. We waited 
here awhile to take breath and put our boots on, 
and then, finding all was still, we crept on, still 
crawling upon the ground, until we arrived at the 
foot of the citadel. Here, for the first time, we ven- 
tured to stand upright. The battlemented walls, 
high up above our heads, loomed dimly through the 
darkness. We could just discern the glimmer of 
the guns; could hear the tread of the sentinel as 


174 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


he paced his round, his steps dying away and then 
coming nearer again. It was Bouquet who took 
the lead now. Besides a length of rope, he had 
provided himself with a few iron cramps, such as 
were used in his native mountains, by the aid of 
which he could climb the steepest precipice. The 
difficulty was to insert them without noise. Stand- 
ing upon my shoulder, he felt about high up as 
he could, until he encountered a small crevice. He 
pushed his cramp into this — whether it would hold 
or not we had to find out — then he hung his rope 
upon it. By means of this he was able to insert a 
second cramp higher up still, and this he repeated 
twice again. Then the cliff becoming broken, he 
was able to climb with his hands and feet. It 
was a time of terrible suspense to me. He was 
obliged to work very slowly, desisting every time 
the sentinel approached. The minutes passed like 
hours. Every moment I expected to be discovered. 
It was a welcome sight, indeed, when the rope came 
dangling down to show all was ready for me to 
follow. Jervis was not to climb; he was to remain 
below on guard, and hoot like an owl at the first 
sign of danger. 

When I pulled myself up I found my Swiss 
safely ensconced in a small hollow immediately be- 
neath the battlement. There was only room for one, 
and he dared not move, the tramp of the sentry was 
so close. Holding fast to the rope, I flattened my- 
self against the cliff until the unsuspecting man 
had passed by, his footsteps exactly over our heads. 

“Shall I kill him, lieutenant?” whispered the 
Swiss in my ear. “ If I jump up now and lie in 


THE SIEGE, 


175 


wait I warrant he will not make a sound.” And 
he was about to slip over when I caught his arm. 

“Not for the world,” I whispered angrily; “it 
would spoil everything. I have learned all I want 
now; I will go down, and when you come remove 
the cramps carefully, that they may not find out 
we have been.” 

We made our way back to the river without 
discovery, crawled over the parapet again, and ar- 
rived on our own side without accident. I had 
accomplished my task: I had proved it possible to 
gain a footing within the citadel; but there the 
matter ended. Sir Paul still deemed the attempt 
too hazardous, unless an attack could be made 
simultaneously at some other point; and he did not 
see his way to this, we were hampered so terribly 
by our lack of numbers. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE SPY. 

Notwithstanding my cousin’s hesitation, I am 
sure in the end he would have risked the attempt. 
Time was passing, and the men at last were inclined 
to doubt. Presently they would begin to desert, 
and we should be left helpless. Then, as it chanced, 
a piece of great good luck befel us. Aubin brought 
in a prisoner he had captured trying to make his 
way into the town. He was a country fellow, clad 
in a peasant’s frock and belt, and speaking such 
vile patois. Sir Paul had to call in one of the Italians 
to interpret. He seemed harmless, and gave a very 
plausible account of himself, an account I did not 
doubt in the slightest. He had been working for 
his lord before the wars began, on a farm some miles 
away. His wife and children were within the town, 
and he wanted to join them. Still, Sir Paul was not 
satisfied, and on stricter search being made, a letter 
was at last discovered very cunningly concealed 
among his clothes. It bore no address, but, when 
opened, it was found to be a missive sent by one of 
the Imperialist generals to acquaint the Governor 
that a company of lands-knechts were on their way 
to raise the siege. A small band would come in 
176 


THE SPY. 


77 


advance, and enter the town in secret by the usual 
way; the main body would arrive later, and on sig- 
nal being given the enemy would be attacked both 
in front and rear. 

This was rather startling. We certainly had not 
expected help to reach the town from outside. 
Marshal Lautrec did not seem to be pressing the 
enemy very closely. Sir Paul tried hard to get 
information from the messenger about this secret 
way, but the fellow pretended to know nothing. 
He was sent out to be flogged with a stirrup leather 
to quicken his wits; but though he made noise 
enough under the infliction to rouse the camp, his 
answer when he came back was still the same. He 
had been paid to carry the letter and knew nothing 
of the contents. As for any secret way, he knew 
of none; he wished he had, for then he would not 
have been captured. And to this he stuck though 
Sir Paul vowed he would have him hung on the 
nearest tree, and ordered the rope to be made ready. 
But all was to no purpose, he kept to the same tale. 

“ It is possible the fellow is speaking the truth, 
after all,” said Sir Paul to me, with a laugh, “ for 
true enough he knows not what he is carrying. 
You have not heard all; listen, this is the rest of 
it,” and he read aloud, translating the Italian into 
French for my benefit: 

“ T have retained your messenger to guide us on 
the way. The fellow I send is a knavish, thieving 
rascal, who would not budge a step without three 
gold pieces in hand. He was to receive three more 
from you; flog him instead until his bones are bare, 
and keep him fast until all is over.^ This, I rather 


178 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


fancy,” my cousin continued, “ will be news to the 
bearer. It may be as well to let him know what 
his good friends intend for him.” 

“ I do not think you need,” I returned quietly, 
for I had been watching the man whilst Sir Paul 
read. Flogging had had no effect upon him; even 
at the prospect of being hung he had not wavered. 
But at those unexpected words — read in a tongue he 
was supposed not to understand — he forgot his part, 
his boorishness dropped from him like a mask, he 
was keenly alert and intelligent. Seeing that he 
was detected, he advanced a step, and, waving the 
interpreter aside, said in good French: 

“ Pardon, monsieur, but may I see that letter? ” 
adding, as if to himself, “ It may be but a ruse 
after all.” 

“No ruse, my friend, but sober truth,” replied 
Sir Paul, giving him the paper. “ Can you read, 
then, as well as speak to us in our own tongue? ” 

“ I was brought up by a priest, monsieur, and 
lived for a time in France. Ay, ay, it is true! ” after 
scanning the writing closely. “ The red-faced dog, 
he shall pay dear for having served me such a trick. 
You may send away your trooper, monsieur, I am 
ready now to answer your questions.” 

I have said that our force was not half numerous 
enough to properly surround the town, and where 
we had the river behind us we kept little guard. 
As it chanced, however, there was a second ford we 
knew nothing about hard by a narrow ditch that 
flowed towards the walls. I had leaped my horse 
over the ditch scores of times, but as we did not 
know the river could be crossed, had given little 


THE SPY, 


179 


heed to it. Now we found it was used as a regular 
channel of communication, messengers passing free- 
ly to and fro. 

“ You would never have caught me had I kept 
to it,” said the spy; “but I was too clever. I 
thought I would find out something of your force 
in order to earn my money better. Flog me until 
my bones are bare! Ay, and they would have done 
it, too. I know my Lord Governor of old. Let 
me serve you, monsieur; I ask no fee or reward, 
I want only to be revenged.” 

“ How can I tell you will not betray me? I 
have given you one flogging already?” 

The fellow grinned from ear to ear. “ That was 
all in the bargain, I bear you no malice for that. 
And it was a flea-bite, all said, I did but howl to 
keep up my character. As for betraying you — re- 
flect, monsieur, did I drop a word, did I let you 
know aught, before I discovered they had betrayed 
me first? ” 

“ I can answer for it you did not, my friend.” 

“ Nor would I, monsieur, not even if you had 
hung me, as you threatened. But now, now ” — 
and his hands clenched with passion — “ only show 
me what to do, and you will see whether or not 
I can be faithful.” 

It was early in the night, not much past ten 
o’clock, when the messenger was captured; morn- 
ing was just beginning to dawn when a little party 
of us watched him steal into the ditch we had passed 
unnoticed so often. He was making his way into 
the town as he had at first intended, only he car- 
ried a different letter. Not much had been altered 


l8o JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

— saving always the reward to be given to the bearer 
— only the arrival of the lands-knechts had been 
hastened; they were to reach the town that same 
night. In their place would come Sir Paul with 
a score of picked men, who, directly they were ad- 
mitted, would seize upon the gate and admit the 
others. To me was assigned the honour of leading 
a second attack by way of the citadel. Thus taken 
by surprise in two places at once, we hoped to 
gain both town and fortress before they could rally. 
The attempt was to be made so soon because noth- 
ing could be gained by waiting; on the contrary, 
the least delay might be fatal. Instead of attacking 
we might be attacked instead, and have to fight 
for our lives. 

Towards evening, fortunately for our purpose, 
there was every sign of an approaching storm. 
Thick clouds rolled up from the south, the wind 
moaned ominously, the heavens were dark and 
threatening. 

I had fifty men with me, every one of whom I 
had chosen myself — tall fellows, and stalwart, able 
to breast the waters. A little before the time of 
starting the rain began to come down in torrents, 
and the sky was black as pitch. This suited me 
well, and I marched my troop off in a hurry, before 
the rain should swell the volume of the river, and 
render the parapet impassable. 

We crossed in the same fashion as before; Bou- 
quet leading the way this time, whilst I remained 
upon the bank to see the last one over. Had the 
sentinel looked down from above we must have 
seemed to him like a row of great beetles crossing 


THE spy. 


i8i 


the water in single file; but he gave no sign. For 
one thing it was so dark he could not have seen 
anything; for another, from the dry state in which 
we found him later it was easy to see he had left 
his post. The driving rain had driven him to take 
shelter within; he paid for the carelessness with his 
life. 

In crossing that slender parapet, out of all my 
men I lost only three. They missed their hold and 
were swept away in an instant — their despairing cries 
lost amid the tumult of the storm. We carried no 
firearms, for the water would have rendered them 
useless, but each man had his pike fastened to his 
back. By the time we were all across the rain had 
somewhat abated. We could have done with it well 
for a little longer, as the lightning now began to 
play, rendering our movements far too visible. The 
men, lying flat upon the ground, disposed them- 
selves amongst the low bushes with which the shore 
was fringed, while Bouquet and I crept forward 
between the flashes to the foot of the citadel. The 
sentry had come back to his post again; we could 
hear the tramp, tramp of his feet upon the stone 
just as before. And here, notwithstanding all the 
trouble I had taken, I was like, by my overeager- 
ness, to have spoiled all. We had brought rope- 
ladders with us this time. Bouquet fixed the irons, 
and soon had them dangling, and we reached the 
embrasure unchallenged. I sprang forward, want- 
ing to be the first to set foot upon the tower, when 
my wounded knee gave way and I fell. All would 
have been lost had it not been for my brave com- 
rade. The sentinel paused and looked over, but 


i 82 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


before he could give the alarm Bouquet was upon 
him. He sprang over the opening like a cat, his 
dagger rose and fell. One low groan and all was 
still. 

I had not fallen very far, the ladder came in my 
way, and I clutched hold of it. Once assured all 
was safe I soon scrambled up again, and we gave 
the appointed signal. The men ran across in the 
dark — ten at a time as I had ordered — and soon they 
swarmed up, each man pike in hand, ready for 
action. 

I was to wait now, if I could, until I heard some- 
thing of Sir Paul; it would depend upon how long 
we were undiscovered. We managed with little 
noise to turn the guns so as to command the town; 
and, whilst a small party kept watch each side the 
low door that gave entrance to the tower, the rest 
of us leaned over the battlements watching anx- 
iously. Though the rain had ceased, the storm was 
not yet over. The thunder kept up a low muttered 
rumble in the distance, and the lightning, though 
the flashes came at longer intervals, was still mar- 
vellously vivid. Presently, as we gazed, all was lit 
up before us, the whole town was spread out at our 
feet. We could see each tower and gate, the whole 
round of ramparts, the low houses with their tiled 
roofs, the churches rising from the narrow streets, 
all spread out as if on a map. For one moment 
only; then darkness fell like a thick black curtain 
— a darkness that could be felt. We waited breath- 
lessly for the next; we knew now what point to fix 
our eyes upon, and the second time we saw a body 
of men moving through the street, the lightning, 


THE SPY, 


183 


playing about their steel caps, revealing them plain- 
ly. Yet a third flash and the conflict had begun. 
There was not much firing, for waiting in the rain 
had damped their powder; it was all done by push 
of pike. 

‘‘ It is our turn now; keep together, men, and 
follow me! ” I cried, and, leading the way, I rushed 
down the narrow flight of stone steps which led 
into the interior of the citadel. The guard-room 
was below, where the principal part of the garrison 
were assembled, and shouting our war-cry, we burst 
in upon them. 

The surprise was complete. The Governor was 
absent, having gone to meet the expected lands- 
knechts ; there was scarce any resistance at all. They 
were struck with panic at the sudden irruption of 
an enemy, coming they knew not whence, and 
sauve qui pent was the cry. The drawbridge was 
down before we even reached the court-yard, 
and, pushing and struggling as to which should 
get out first, they rushed into the streets, cry- 
ing: “The citadel is taken, the enemy is in the 
town!” We gained the place almost without 
striking a blow; without the loss of a single man. 
The only blood shed was that of the unfortunate 
sentinel. 

Once the place was ours I hurried back to the 
ramparts and sent three shots booming over the 
town; the signal agreed upon to let Sir Paul know 
we had succeeded. When the noise and smoke had 
passed away, the din of arms from the streets below 
came plainly to my ears. There were bursts of flame 
and clash of steel, and signs of a wild confusion; 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


184 

yet if our men had gained much way they ought to 
have been nearer. They were meeting with a more 
stubborn resistance than we had, that was evident. 
I rushed down again, and leaving Bouquet and a 
dozen men in charge, ordering them to raise the 
drawbridge directly I had departed, I sallied out 
at the head of the remainder to take the foe in the 
rear. But the worst was over; the enemy had 
begun to yield before we arrived. The flying troops 
from the citadel had infected the others with their 
panic; they were gradually melting away. The 
townsmen, in particular, slipped down the neigh- 
bouring alleys, to hide while they could. The com- 
mander and a small body of the garrison fought 
bravely, however, to the end. Sir Paul offered them 
their lives if they would yield, but they were furious 
at being so outwitted, and, setting their backs to the 
wall, perished to the last man. We were victorious 
everywhere. The place was ours. 

When the necessary dispositions had been made, 
the gates closed, and a watch set, the town was given 
over to pillage as Sir Paul had promised. I had 
never been present at the sack of a town before, and, 
notwithstanding my apprenticeship among the 
brigands, the cruel savagery made me verily sick. 
If I had had more experience I should have taken 
no heed of such a small affair; scenes I witnessed 
later dwarfed it into insignificance. But, owing, 
I suppose, to my unfortunate up-bringing, my sym- 
pathies were with the wretched people, and I did 
all in my power to save some of them. Little 
enough it was, for though there must needs be war 
— or what would become of noble knights and gal- 


THE SPY, 185 

lant men? — yet ’tis always the helpless who pay 
for it. 

We remained four days in the town, both to 
rest the men and to collect the plunder; then with 
a train of heavily-laden mules and horses we set 
out to rejoin Marshal Lautrec. But first we razed 
the citadel to the ground, blowing up the massive 
walls with gunpowder, and set the rest of the town 
on fire. It was burning fiercely when we marched 
away, and it made my heart ache to see the poor 
creatures steal out of their hiding-places and wring 
their hands about the blazing ruins. My pouch 
was full of gold pieces — part of my share of the 
plunder — and, making some excuse that my real 
purpose might not be known, I rode back and 
emptied it amongst them. Yet was I terribly afraid 
lest my softheartedness should be known. I should 
have felt shamed indeed if my men had seen me. 


13 


CHAPTER XXL 


ISPARI. 

When we came up with Marshal Lautrec we 
found him encamped with his whole army without 
the walls of Ispari, the chief city in that part of 
Italy. It was a place of some size, governed by its 
Duke, an independent sovereign and ally of France. 
Ispari was a beautiful city to look upon. The 
churches and principal edifices were built of fair 
white marble, fountains and gleaming statues were 
at every street corner, and the grand ducal palace 
rose from the centre of an open square. This palace 
was partly new and partly old. The main building 
and two long wings were of modern date, but there 
was a massive round-tower from which the Duke’s 
flag floated, standing apart and alone, which evi- 
dently had belonged to some more ancient build- 
ing. There was no moat or drawbridge to the 
palace; nothing but a high wall with three strong 
gates, each provided with a small guard-house. And 
even this slight defence was somewhat disguised. 
The raised parapet inside the walls had been con- 
verted into a terrace with balustrades and statues; 
there was a row of orange trees in full bloom mask- 
ing the sentries, whilst in the great courtyard a mar- 


ISPARI. 


187 


ble fountain, surrounded by banks of flowers, was 
always merrily playing. Still, all was not quite 
so peaceful as it seemed, as you will hear presently. 

Our arrival in camp, heavily laden with plunder, 
was greeted with acclamations. The capture of 
the town by our scanty numbers had been con- 
sidered so impossible, that even the most envious 
could not forbear their applause. My lord the mar- 
shal was most gracious, and bestowed upon my 
kinsman great commendation. 

“ Plenty of fine words, Jean,” Sir Paul said; 
nothing more, not even a reward for you. I do 
not believe either that he was too well pleased; for 
though he forced his lips to smile his tell-tale eyes 
betrayed him. However, we are both supposed to 
be in high favour at present; you must unpack your 
baggage and have out your gala suit, for we sup 
with the Duke to-night, and afterwards pay our 
court to the Duchess. I have given you your due, 
young man, and your reputation precedes you; I 
have told them the story of the capture of the cita- 
del. You will have to stand a hotter fire now; the 
eyes of the Italian ladies are very deadly.” 

I would much rather have remained in the camp, 
and, so I said, for I was too rough and awkward 
to feel at home with court ladies; but Sir Paul only 
laughed and bade me make haste and get ready. 

I was quite sincere in desiring to remain behind ; 
yet when I put on my court dress, a new suit I had 
never worn before, I regarded myself with some 
complacency. Now that my eyes are dim, and my 
back bowed with age, I may say, without vanity, I 
was not wanting in comeliness. I was tall and 


i88 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


well-formed, with yellow hair and bright blue eyes, 
and my martial exercises had given ease and dignity 
to my bearing. And my costume of azure blue, 
slashed with white satin, became my skin well, 
though ’twas but a plain dress with scarce a jewel 
about it. The gallants at the court of King Francis 
were wont to carry a fortune upon their persons — 
doublet, cap, belt, sword-hilt, even their very shoes, 
all glittering with precious stones. I was content, 
however, else had I been most ungrateful, and once 
again the thought came to me — if the demoiselle 
could but see me ! It was not strange that I 'should 
think of her on that particular night. She was so 
often in my thoughts. I realised better of late days 
what a terrible thing that enforced marriage must 
have been to her. She was quit of it long ago, I 
had no doubt; yet the remembrance of such a hu- 
miliation must ever be painful. Could she but know 
at some future time — when, perhaps, by some gal- 
lant deed I had made my name famous — that her 
one-time husband was not the low-born churl she 
imagined, then her thoughts of me might be less 
bitter. I had fancied something of this before, when 
my birthright was first restored to me, as I think 
I have mentioned already; this time it was my self- 
satisfaction, my fine appearance, that recalled the 
demoiselle to me so strongly. Alas, my vanity was 
short-lived; it soon received a grievous blow. 

In due time I made my obeisance to the Duke, 
and Sir Paul presenting me as his kinsman, I was 
graciously received, and the supper passed off very 
well. There were no ladies present; their company 
was not desired when the Duke supped. The party 


ISP AAV. 


189 


was composed of the Duke and Italian nobles, mem- 
bers of his household, Marshal de Lautrec and his 
officers, and others — in all a gay and gallant com- 
pany, in whose society I much enjoyed myself. The 
Duke was past middle age, a stout, jovial-looking 
man, too corpulent almost to mount upon horse- 
back, and devoted heart and soul to the pleasures 
of the table. He was more like a German than an 
Italian, and, in truth, he had much German blood 
in his veins. In politics he took no part, the city 
being governed really by his chief minister, the 
Grand Chamberlain, and the Duchess, who were at 
daggers drawn. The Duke had no direct heir. The 
Chamberlain had some claim in right of his wife, 
and many in the city were his partisans. 

You must not suppose I learnt all this that first 
night, or for many nights after; it was taught me 
later by the force of circumstances. It chanced to 
be my fate, as you will see, to interfere with some 
of my Lord Chamberlain’s plans, and in the end I 
did not get the worst of it. And all was rose- 
colour at first. The Chamberlain, who ranked at 
court next to the Duke himself, could not make 
enough of us, and after all courtesies to Sir Paul, 
had even a few gracious words to spare for me. 
And it was he who, when the feast was ended — the 
Duke and many of his friends being scarce in a fit 
state to leave the table — conducted us to the apart- 
ments of the Duchess. These were situated in the 
opposite wing of the palace ; we had to pass through 
many rooms and a long corridor before — our ap- 
proach heralded by merry talk and noisy laughter 
— we were ushered into the presence chamber. This 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


190 

was a wide gallery, sumptuously adorned with paint- 
ings and sculptures, and with many long windows 
opening on to a marble terrace. 

The Duchess sat beneath a canopy at the upper 
end, with a little group of ladies standing behind 
her. Sir Paul Caryl and a few other strangers 
were presented in due form; then I also had the 
honour of kneeling before Her Highness, and she 
spoke very kindly to me concerning the capture of 
the city. The Duchess was a tall and stately lady, 
of noble presence and dignified in manner. She 
was not young, almost, indeed, past middle age, yet 
with the remains of great beauty. Directly the 
formal reception was over, all was ease and gaiety. 
The cavaliers mingled with the ladies; there was 
music and song and dancing, witty talk and mirth- 
ful laughter; never had I been present at so gay a 
scene. 

One of the court ladies, taking compassion, I 
think, upon my shyness, came where I stood a 
little apart, and tried to talk to me. Unfortunately 
she had not much French, I still less Italian — when 
we had exhausted a few stock phrases, conversa- 
tion became difficult. Presently she signed to me 
to follow, and, talking volubly in her own tongue, 
led me across the room. I could not understand 
half she said, but could just manage to make out 
she was going to take me to one from my own land. 
There was a little group round the lady she sought ; 
as they made way for us I bowed low, without 
looking up. I saw nothing but her dress, a vision 
of white and silver and gleaming gems. As I 
raised my head I saw the lady's face for the first 


ISPARI. 


191 


time — it was Mademoiselle de Suresne. Our eyes 
met She knew me. One glance told me that. 
Yet did she show no astonishment, but returning 
my salute with cold and distant courtesy, resumed 
her conversation with a cavalier b}^ her side. I was 
too startled and confused to stammer out a word, 
and I saw a smile on many lips at my awkwardness. 
In truth, the demoiselle was more prepared for the 
meeting than I was. She had been one of the ladies 
attending the Duchess, and had recognised me di- 
rectly. 

They were a merry group, all talking and laugh- 
ing. They had smiled at my want of manners, but 
no one seemed to notice the deadly pallor that 
gradually overspread the lady’s face, or how her 
lips and hands were trembling. I waited for a 
while amid the throng; then, as she took no notice 
of me, I quietly slipped away. I needed to be alone 
to collect my scattered senses, and took refuge in 
a deep recess, where I was partly hid by a curtain. 
Yet I could not take my eyes from the demoiselle. 
She had always been beautiful in my sight; yet 
never had I deemed she could shine sO fair as she 
did that night. In a moment all my new-born vanity 
was dashed to the ground; once again I felt myself 
a churl beside her. 

Hidden by the curtain, I watched, as I thought, 
unseen. I would not have troubled her for the 
world; yet I think she must have felt my gaze. 
She moved restlessly, turned half round, then sud- 
denly turning back again, gave me one long look 
in return. All that it expressed I could not under- 
stand. There was the old scorn, the old reproach 


192 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


I knew so well; but, besides, there was a look of 
fear, almost of terror, I could not make out at all. 
Surely of all people in the world the demoiselle had 
no reason to be afraid of me. I thought it must 
be that my gaze had affronted her, and, resolutely 
turning my back, I looked out of the window. It 
was a bright moonlight night; the fountains were 
playing; the marble terraces lit up by tiny lamps. 
And presently, the dance having ceased, some doors 
were thrown open, and many of the company 
strolled out to enjoy the cooler air. 

As I stood looking upon them I felt a smart tap 
upon my shoulder, and, turning, was confronted by 
Mademoiselle de Suresne. 

“ Monsieur, you have been confided to my care,’^ 
she said, with a forced smile. “ If it so please you, 
we will go look at the fountain I spoke of just 
now.” 

I bowed and held out my hand to conduct her, 
after the fashion of the other cavaliers. She just 
touched it with her finger-tips, which struck upon 
my warm palm cold as death, and we went out 
upon the terrace, down a flight of steps, and into 
a thick orange grove, where we were alone. In- 
stantly she dropped my hand as if it burnt her, and, 
facing me, cried vehemently: 

“ Now, monsieur impostor, monsieur brigand, 
masquerading as a gentleman ! Time is short, speak 
out. What is your will?” 

For the second time that night I could only 
stammer foolishly; such an unexpected onslaught 
frightened my wits away. 

Speak out!” she repeated, stamping her little 


ISPARI. 


193 

foot. “ Why have you sought me here? Is it for 
your reward?” 

“ My reward? ” I echoed; words would not come 
to me yet. 

“Ay, the reward I promised for your services; 
the gold you did not stay to receive. When the 
Governor sent for you you were gone. You have 
come to demand it now; is it not so, monsieur im- 
postor, Jean the horse-boy?” 

“ I am no impostor; neither do I want your 
money. I would not take a crown of you if I were 
starving,” I cried, finding my speech at last. “ Nei- 
ther did I come here to seek you. I did not know 
you were in Italy, much less in Ispari. I have never 
once heard your name since we parted.” 

“Then why come you hither at all?” 

“ In attendance upon my kinsman. Sir Paul 
Caryl.” 

“ Your kinsman? What mean you? ” 

Then I recounted to her, in as few words as I 
could, the story of my birth, and how I had re- 
covered name and friends. You may be sure I did 
not dilate upon it; her scornful reception had made 
me angry. 

“ You expect me to believe this fine tale?” she 
cried, mockingly, when I came to an end. 

“ It matters not to me whether you do or not,” 
I retorted curtly. “ You asked me a question and 
I answered it.” 

“ Ah, I will find out the truth some other way. 
Not that it is anything to me,” and she half turned 
to go; it was such a struggle with her pride to 
speak to me at all. Had I guessed what she wanted 


194 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


I would have helped her; but I was thick-headed 
at the best, and always at my worst with the demoi- 
selle. I could read her looks a great deal better 
than her words. She half left me, as I said, then, 
staying her steps, said harshly: 

“ Perhaps, now that you call yourself gentle 
born, your business is with my uncle? ” 

“ I know nothing of your uncle.” 

“ Oh yes, you do. You have already paid your 
court to him very successfully. The Grand Cham- 
berlain is my uncle.” 

‘‘ I did not know. But ’tis naught to me; ’tis 
no business of mine.” 

“ Surely it is not my brother you are seeking?” 
and her voice trembled. 

“ I am not seeking anyone,” I returned impa- 
tiently — her persistence annoyed me — “ most cer- 
tainly not the Marquis de Suresne. What, pray, has 
he to do with me? ” 

“ Would you try to persuade me you come as a 
friend?” 

At last a light began to dawn upon my stupidity. 
It was the old fear again. She thought I had come 
to make some claim upon her. How, or in 
what fashion I could not tell, seeing that, in all 
probability, she was long ago married to her 
cousin. 

“ Neither as friend or foe; simply a stranger. I 
make your acquaintance, if you will so honour me, 
for the first time to-night. As far as I am con- 
cerned, I never spoke to you until yonder lady took 
me to your side. I never saw you before. I repeat, 
you are a stranger to me.” 


ISPARI, 


195 

And what will your new friend, your English 
kinsman, say to that? ” she cried quickly. 

“ What should he say? Never, that I am aware 
of, has he heard your name; certainly not from me.” 

“You have not told him?” and she looked at 
me incredulously. 

“ I have not told even my confessor. The secret 
was not mine. I promised once never to speak of 
it, and, horse-boy or gentleman, I always keep my 
word. There was a paper once. I destroyed it long 
ago lest it should fall into other hands. With that 
all was at an end. Mademoiselle — pardon me if I 
do not address you by your right title ” 

“ I am Mademoiselle de Suresne still,” with a 
ring of the old defiance. 

“ Then, Mademoiselle de Suresne, I have not 
seen the fountain of which we were speaking. Will 
it please you to show it to me now? ” 

She believed at last, I think, for she gave me 
her hand without a word, and we walked on until 
we came out upon the company. Afterwards I 
took the first opportunity that presented itself for 
leaving her, and spoke with the demoiselle no more 
that night. 

One thing out of all this rather puzzled me. 
Why was mademoiselle so frightened? For in her 
manner, far more than in her words, even when she 
hit me hardest, there had been through all an under- 
current of deadly fear. It could not be merely lest 
I should betray the secret of that empty ceremony; 
she must have been compelled herself to acknowl- 
edge it in order to be set free. Besides, now that I 
was proved of noble birth, there was less humilia- 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


196 

tion. That she was not free, that through pride 
and shame Mademoiselle de Suresne had held her 
tongue, compelling her brother to silence also, never 
once occurred to me. Yet so it was; though not 
for a long time did I know it. The demoiselle was 
still my wife; I might lay claim to her if I chose. 
She had thought never to see me again, least of all 
in a strange country. No wonder my sudden ap- 
pearance startled the poor lady. It seemed impos- 
sible she could have kept the matter so secret, see- 
ing she was promised in marriage to her cousin. 
But here again circumstances favoured her. For 
some unknown reason she took a great dislike to the 
gentleman. Count Ornano. The Duchess, to spite 
the Grand Chamberlain, upheld her, and the Count 
quitted Ispari in dudgeon. Another report had it 
that Count Ornano was not heart-broken at his 
rejection. If aught happened to the young Marquis, 
he might perchance obtain possession of the lands 
without the lady. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


I INTERFERE WITH MY LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 

We remained at Ispari for some weeks, Marshal 
Lautrec being in no hurry to remove from such 
pleasant quarters. When at last he did move on 
we were left behind. 

“ Tis the old story, Jean,” said Sir Paul, when 
he told me the news. “ One way or another, my 
lord means to be quit of us. There is more reason, 
however, this time, though he need not have picked 
me out for the service. The town needs holding 
with a strong hand. There are enemies within as 
well as without. It would never do for Ispari to be 
captured by the Imperialists. It is our duty, and 
we must obey; but ’tis an inglorious task. No 
chance of winning your spurs this time, Jean; no 
reward, no plunder. Once the danger is over I shall 
return to Calais. My Lord Marshal understands 
that; I have taken my leave of him.” 

When I heard this I did not know whether to be 
glad or sorry. I was vexed that my first campaign 
should come to such an inglorious end. At the 
same time I was glad of the opportunity to see more 
of the demoiselle. I was not anxious to talk with 
her. She did not treat me civilly enough for that. 

197 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


198 

But I liked well to watch her from a distance. Re- 
member, I did not know she was still bound to 
me. Had I guessed it for a moment I should have 
acted differently, and kept out of her sight as much 
as possible. 

The Grand Chamberlain was much opposed to 
having any troops left behind, and did all in his 
power to prevent it. That being the case, the 
Duchess favoured the project strongly; and Mar- 
shal Lautrec, only too glad of the opportunity to be 
rid of the man he detested, at once fell in with her 
\fishes. Still, the Chamberlain did not show him- 
self unfriendly to us; on the contrary, he accepted 
his defeat with good grace, and was more com- 
plaisant than ever. Sir Paul was courteous to him 
always, but very cold. He distrusted my lord with 
all his heart, and kept him ever at arm’s length. 
This did not suit the gentleman at all. He suspected 
Sir Paul of being as double-faced as himself, and 
hoped to discover his plans. To help him in this 
he even set spies upon me; one of his agents being, 
strangely enough, the young Marquis of Suresne. 
The boy had shot up into a tall young stripling, 
weakly still, yet of somewhat swaggering demean- 
our, and affecting all the vices of a man. I pitied 
him somewhat for his sister’s sake, and when he 
made advances of friendship I eagerly responded. 

The young lord had a great idea of his own 
importance. He thought I was flattered by his no- 
tice, and always expected me to lose when we 
wagered or when we played with the cards. His 
usual name for me was Monsieur Englishman — 
Strathbourne, he was pleased to say, being too hard 


/ INTERFERE WITH LORD CHAMBERLAIN, igg 

to pronounce. Of course the lad had no idea he had 
ever seen me before — that I had ever played a part 
in his life. His agitation at the time had been so 
great I felt sure there was no danger of recognition. 
I do not think Mademoiselle de Suresne knew much 
of my intimacy with her brother. He thought me 
too insignificant to speak of, and when we were 
present together at the receptions of the Duchess, 
rather held aloof from me. 

Those days passed very happily. It was my 
duty to wait upon the Duchess almost every even- 
ing, and always I saw the demoiselle. It was but 
seldom we spoke together. I never addressed her 
unless she spoke to me first; but sometimes she 
would throw me a passing word or two, and every 
syllable I treasured. 

If Mademoiselle de Suresne were cold to me, 
however, other ladies were not — one in particular, 
a certain Contessa Motocaro, whose husband was 
absent with the French troops, was almost over- 
poweringly kind. She was handsome and witty, 
and speaking French almost as well as her own 
tongue, I liked her well enough, and felt grateful 
for her notice. But when, after the fashion of the 
court, she not only began to call me her young 
cavalier, but gave me her glove to wear in my 
helm, I drew back a little. I excused myself from 
this latter by reminding her that I was only a simple 
squire, that I must wait to win my spurs before 
I could tilt in honour of a lady; and when I 
thought no one was looking I cast her glove away 
in the palace gardens. It was a circumstance of 
not much moment. Why I mention it here is be- 


200 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

cause it brought me a kind word from the demoi- 
selle. She must have been watching me closer than 
I thought, for that same night she herself secretly 
gave the glove back to me. 

“ The Contessa must not know you prize her 
gift so lightly,” she said, in a low voice. “ She has 
powerful friends; it is dangerous to offend her.” 

“ Am I to wear it in my helm as she bade me 
then? ” I replied in simple fashion as if I knew no 
better. 

“ That is as you please, sir squire,” my demoi- 
selle returned with a kinder smile than she had ever 
given me yet. ‘‘ But if you must needs lose it, let 
it be in some more private place, not where officious 
hands will take it back to her.” 

This little incident pleased me mightily ; it 
showed, I thought, that the lady took some small 
interest in me. My hopes were soon dashed again. 
The next time we met, as if to make up for her 
short-lived kindness, Mademoiselle de Suresne was 
colder and haughtier than ever. Yet I did not care 
so much; it could not take away the fact that she 
had given herself the trouble to warn me. 

Although most of my evenings were spent in 
idleness at the palace, I found plenty to do in the 
day. Should the tide of war flow in our direction 
the city would have to stand a siege, and Sir Paul 
was busy enlarging and strengthening the defence. 
Many rumours were flying about. One was that 
the French had been defeated, which we did not 
believe. Another, more probable, was that the 
Bande Mere, the Black Bands of the city of Flor- 
ence, who had once followed Giovanni de Medici, 


I INTERFERE WITH LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 20I 

and now, under Orazio Baglioni, were to have 
joined Lautrec, had gone over in a body to the 
enemy. This, though it turned out not to be true, 
was likely enough. If the troops were not paid 
they were wont to change sides in a day, in an 
hour; and the commanders were always short of 
money. 

Messengers were sent off at once, both to the 
marshal and to the city of Florence, and, whilst 
awaiting their return, news was brought of a band 
of men who had taken up their quarters in a ruined 
village a few leagues away. They might be an 
advanced post of the enemy, they might be but a 
handful of brigands — anyhow, it was necessary to 
find out and dislodge them. Sir Paul was very glad 
of the chance, for he had raised a body of troops 
from among the townspeople, and was anxious to 
try them in the field. 

Amongst those who proposed to accompany us 
was the young Marquis de Suresne. Most of the 
gentlemen of Ispari, save those attached to the 
Duke’s household, had gone to the field with my 
Lord of Lautrec; the Marquis had been thought 
too weakly, and, by his uncle’s command, had re- 
mained behind. It was the Chamberlain’s own wish, 
however, that the boy should ride with us now, 
and he himself was very eager — apparently he had 
overcome his childish cowardice. 

We were quite a gay cavalcade when we started, 
the Duke and the Chamberlain mounting the walls 
to see us off, and the Duchess and her ladies riding 
with us part of the way. Mademoiselle de Suresne 
had not a word or a look for me, but I noticed her 
14 


202 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


in close converse with Sir Paul, and, in due time, I 
found out the reason. The ladies had long left us, 
and we were nearing our destination, when my 
cousin reined up his horse beside mine. 

“Young Suresne is a friend of yours, Jean?” 
he asked. 

“ A friend of a sort,” I replied. “ He will drink 
with me when he has no one better, he will talk 
with me when his friends are not near, and he does 
me the honour at times to win my money.” 

“ Ah, I see. I knew I had seen you together. 
I want you to give an eye to him now. Mademoi- 
selle his sister is troubled with foolish fears concern- 
ing the lad, and has appealed to me to protect him. 
I shall have enough to do with seeing after these 
raw levies. I turn him over to you.” 

“ Very good, I will do my best,” I answered with 
a laugh, “ so long as you do not send him to the 
rear.” 

I thought the matter of little consequence, know- 
ing well the timidity of the demoiselle in aught 
concerning her brother. 

It caused me, however, to turn my attention to 
the young Marquis, and I rode up and exchanged 
a few words with him. He received me rather 
coldly. He was talking and jesting with one of his 
boon companions, a certain Signor Vivares, a pesti- 
lent fellow I could not abide. My company was 
plainly not desired; so I fell back and left him to 
his own devices, contenting myself with throwing 
a glance his way now and then. 

When we reached the village we found it to all 
appearance deserted, though traces were not want- 


/ INTERFERE WITH LORD CHAMBERLAIN 203 

ing of recent occupation. Indeed, in one place the 
embers of a fire were still glowing. Orders were 
given for the buildings to be thoroughly searched, 
half the men dismounting, whilst the others spread 
themselves round to intercept any fugitives. This 
took some time, for the houses were straggling, 
and then it was I first realised the responsibility of 
the task I had so lightly undertaken. There was 
little probability of coming to open blows, but 
there was always the chance of a stray shot; if any- 
thing happened to the Marquis the demoiselle would 
never forgive me. True, she herself had not in- 
trusted him to my protection, but Sir Paul had 
spoken for her; it was just the same. I would not 
go too near to be repulsed again; but I followed 
the lad stealthily, seeing a musket behind every 
bush. 

After a time a few shots were heard. Some men 
had been discovered in an outlying barn and seemed 
inclined to defend it. The shed was quickly sur- 
rounded; then, as Sir Paul wished to capture them 
unhurt, in order to obtain information, he began 
to parley with them. 

At the first rush the young Marquis and his 
friend had hurried up with the rest of us, but when 
the excitement was over, I saw Signor Vivares 
speak low into the boy’s ear, and suddenly they 
turned and rode sharply away. Now that the vil- 
lage had been so thoroughly searched my fears were 
somewhat allayed. Still I thought it well to follow, 
keeping out of sight as much as I could. Besides, 
I was rather curious as to where they could pos- 
sibly be going. They passed the farthest outpost, 


204 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


and still rode on; then when they were safely be- 
yond sight, two shots flashed forth from a roadside 
thicket. The horse of the Marquis fell to the 
ground, throwing him heavily. Signor Vivares, in- 
stead of endeavouring to aid his friend, galloped 
ofif at his utmost speed, without one glance behind. 
I was at some little distance, and before I could 
reach the helpless lad two ruffians darted forth, 
prepared to dispatch him. My pistols were loaded 
and ready to hand ; I took careful aim, and the fore- 
most fell upon his face. The other looked up, 
startled; then seeing me close upon him tried to 
make his escape. He had no chance — I was riding, 
he was on foot; I cut down the treacherous assassin 
without mercy. For assassination it was truly. 
From their dress the men belonged to our own 
troop, and it seemed to me as if Signor Vivares 
had planned it all. 

When I got back to the Marquis I was rejoiced 
to find him sitting up and looking about him. 

“ Is it you?” he asked, in somewhat bewildered 
fashion. “What has become of Vivares?” 

“ He has gone to obtain help, perhaps ; at least 
he made off as fast as his horse could carry him,” I 
returned drily. “ The knaves have hit you, I see,” 
for blood was trickling down his sleeve; “let me 
find out what is amiss.” 

On examination the lad’s hurts proved to be 
less than I feared. A ball had lodged in his shoul- 
der; a very simple wound, I thought, and he was 
also bruised and shaken by his fall. He was a little 
faint and dizzy, but a draught from my flask soon 
revived him, and as I tied up his hurt I asked how 


/ INTERFERE WITH LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 205 

he came to ride in that particular direction. He did 
not answer at first; he was too busy turning things 
over in his mind — the boy did not lack understand- 
ing. Then taking no notice of my question, he 
asked instead: 

“ How came you to be here, Monsieur English- 
man? ” 

“ It chanced so,” I answered carelessly. “ I 
heard the shots and rode up.” 

“Did Vivares know you were behind?” 

“ That I dare swear he did not.” 

“ Ah, you think ” 

“ I think I would not ride abroad with Signor 
Vivares again without other company. Now, mon- 
sieur, if you are able to move I will help you on to 
my horse; your own, I see, is dead. Our friends 
will be coming to look for us.” 

“Wait a moment; it is necessary that I should 
understand. I owe Vivares money; he would 
hardly — unless, ah, he would get more that way 
— could Edmee have been right, after all?” This 
last muttered as if to himself ; then abruptly to me — 
“Turn him over, let me see his face,” pointing to 
the dead ruffian a few paces away. “ Is he quite 
dead? Go and see.” 

I turned the fellow’s face upwards ; he was dead 
enough; my bullet had pierced his heart. - I was 
still examining the body, turning out the pockets to 
look for papers, when I found the Marquis standing 
by my side. He was whiter even than before, and 
his limbs were trembling. 

“ I know him,” he whispered, as if afraid of 
being overheard, though not a creature was near. 


206 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

“ It is even as she said, fool that I was to have 
doubted.” Then bursting into a queer little laugh, 
meant to hide his fright, “ And it is you who have 
saved me — you! ” and he laughed again. “ Do you 
not know that he set me to watch you, to get out 
of you all I could? ” 

“He? — who? Signor Vivares?” 

“Vivares? No, what should it advantage him? 
He is but an underling. It is my uncle, the Grand 
Chamberlain, who wishes me out of the way. I 
was warned that it might be so, but would not be- 
lieve; I did not think he would dare. But I know 
this fellow well, ’tis a man he was wont to employ,” 
and he spurned the body with his foot. “ There is 
no longer any doubt.” 

“ Why should your uncle desire your death? ” 
I asked, loth to be convinced of such treachery, 
though a dim remembrance of certain words spoken 
by the brigand captain came back to me. 

“ For a very good reason — because he is my next 
heir. He has let me alone so far; I am not strong, 
and perhaps he thought I should save him the trou- 
ble. But there is a talk now of my returning to 
France — I am a French noble, I have to do homage 
for my estates, you know — I suppose that has quick- 
ened him. Once safe at the court of the King of 
France, I should be out of his power.” 

I helped the lad to my horse after this, and 
as I walked by his side I wondered rather if he 
meant to openly accuse his uncle, and, if so, what 
might be the outcome of it. The young Marquis 
was thinking of much the same, for presently he 
broke the silence with — 


/ INTERFERE WITH LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 207 

“ Can you keep counsel, Monsieur English- 
man? ” 

I laughed as I thought how little he knew. “ I 
think so, monsieur; at least I can try.” 

“ Then say nothing of what has happened, .save 
that you found me wounded and lent me your 
horse. Leave me to tell the rest. Meet Vivares 
just as usual, as if you did not know; and above 
all be careful with my uncle. Do you think you 
can do that? ” 

“ It does not sound very difficult.” 

“ Ah, but there is the Contessa Motocaro.” 

“ What of her? Is she also a spy of my Lord 
Chamberlain’s? ” 

“ Of course she is, and a very clever one, too. 
Miladi has drawn secrets from wiser men than 
you.” 

“ But what do they think to get out of me?” 
I cried, surprised. “ I know no secrets; I have 
nothing to hide.” 

“ You, no,” and his tone grew somewhat con- 
temptuous; “but you are in the confidence of Sir 
Paul Caryl.” 

“You thought I could betray my kinsman?” 
and for the moment I turned hot with anger. 

“ You might betray him without knowing, 
though I never got anything out of you. The Con- 
tessa was more successful, I dare say.” 

I laughed again; it was not worth while being 
angry. “Let us hope so; let us hope she gave 
satisfaction to her employer.” 

“ Do you really mean you never told her any- 
thing?” . 


2o8 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Do you ask as a gentleman, or as the spy of 
my Lord Chamberlain, Monsieur le Marquis?” 

The lad flushed, and seemed for the first time a 
little ashamed. 

“ As a friend,” he stammered. “ I should like to 
be friends with you; if you will.” 

“ Nay, as a friend, all I ever told the Contessa 
might have been proclaimed aloud upon the house- 
tops, and no one a whit the wiser ! ” 

“ You are not so simple as you seem, then, after 
all,” and he looked at me almost admiringly. 

“ Simple or not, monsieur, I know how to keep 
my own counsel. May I ask if Mademoiselle de 
Suresne knew you were set as a spy upon me?” 

My sister? What has it to do with her? I do 
not tell her everything; we do not always agree. 
She is not friends with my uncle, since she refused 
to marry his son. It was foolish of her; stupid, 
and so I told her. The marriage has long been 
arranged; there was no reason why she should not 
carry it out — no reason at all,” and he frowned and 
shook his head as if to drive away some unwelcome 
recollection. “ She talks of going into a convent 
when we return to France, but it is quite certain 
King Francis will never allow it. I always took my 
uncle’s side before; now I must tell her of this, 
and she will find some way to circumvent him. That 
is why I wish the matter kept so secret; it will be 
easier if he thinks we do not know.” 

I had not believed for a moment that the demoi- 
selle was in the conspiracy; nay, I even thought that 
had she known she would have warned me; still, it 
was satisfactory to hear it from the boy’s own lips. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


A REBUKE AND A RECONCILIATION. 

I WAS obliged to tell Sir Paul the true story of 
what had happened, lest he should think I had 
been careless of his behest; also, it was my duty 
to warn him concerning the espial. He laughed 
at that. 

“ I always knew,” he said. “ It is the custom of 
the country, the way they carry on their affairs. 
As for the Marquis, ’tis a pity rather. The Cham- 
berlain is not likely to fail twice. Still, it is no 
business of ours; as long as they keep their hands 
off us, let them stab and shoot one another as they 
will.” 

“ I should be glad to save the lad if I could,” I 
remarked; '‘if only to foil my Lord Chamberlain. 
I like not to have spies set upon me.” 

“I tell you, Jean, that is nothing; but if you 
mix yourself up in the boy’s affairs, ’tis likely to 
prove more serious. I want not to hear one day 
you have been picked up in some dark corner with 
six inches of cold steel in your back. By the way, 
as what you have already done is sure to come to 
my lord’s ears, it might be as well if you wore a 
good mail shirt underneath your doublet. See to 
209 


210 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


it. ’Tis better to take precautions before than after. 
As for the Marquis, his only course is to quit the 
city with all speed, to go where his uncle’s arm 
cannot reach him. Give him that advice if you 
choose, and then have done with it.” 

It was more than a week after this before I met 
the young Marquis again. I saw the demoiselle 
once or twice at the palace, but she did not speak 
or take any notice of me, and, of course, I did not 
accost her. I listened to all that was said, but no 
one suspected, as far as I could tell, that the lad’s 
hurt was out of the ordinary course of things. Some 
shots had been exchanged; two of the troopers were 
wounded also, there was nothing to be wondered 
at in a stray ball hitting the Marquis. Only the 
Contessa was very curious concerning my part in 
the affair, and questioned me closely. But fore- 
warned was forearmed, and with the simplest air in 
the world I referred her to Signor Vivares. It was 
he who accompanied Monsieur le Marquis when the 
shot was fired; I only arrived in time to find the 
young gentleman disabled. 

Then one morning, as I was returning from the 
guard-room, I was met by a servant, who said his 
master, the Marquis of Suresne, desired to speak 
with me. The message was rather peremptory, but 
that I knew was the boy’s style; he always imagined 
the world was made for him. 

Since his illness the young lord had been lodged 
in the palace — that, I knew; but I was rather sur- 
prised to find him quartered high up in the old 
tower. I remember the thought struck me as I 
was ascending the steep stairs, how remote he was 


A REBUKE AND A RECONCILIATION. 211 

from all help; how, in case of danger, no cries 
could pierce that massive wall. Again, on the other 
hand, if surrounded by his own friends, no place 
could be so secure; and I noted with approbation 
how all the lackeys, even the sentinel on guard, wore 
the badge of the Suresnes. It was the demoiselle’s 
doing, I felt certain; she had provided for her 
brother’s safety. 

The room into which I was conducted, though 
not very luxurious, was fairly comfortable. The 
bare stone walls were hidden by tapestry, there 
was a hanging lamp of wrought silver, a table and 
chairs, and in a deep recess, half concealed by faded 
curtains, was the bed. 

The young Marquis, in a fine embroidered gown, 
was reclining in a low chair, his feet supported by 
a stool. He looked sorely ill. His pale cheeks were 
lined and drawn, his lips pinched, his hands thin and 
trembling. The lad must have been weakly indeed, 
for so light a hurt to have such effect upon him. 
My heart went out in pity. I forgot his arrogant 
selfishness, could pardon even the tone of lofty con- 
descension with which he accosted me. 

“ I have sent for you, monsieur,” my lord began 
directly we were alone, “ because I think you may 
be of service to me.” 

I bowed and murmured something about being 
very happy, wondering rather what he wanted. 
Scarce to be one of his seconds in a duel with 
Vivares; he would not consider me of rank enough 
for that. “ It has been shown me,” he went on, 
“ that it would be well if I quitted Ispari, if I set 
out for France as soon as I am able to travel. 


212 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

Now my uncle I am sure will prevent this if he 
can, so needs must that I leave secretly. I told my 
sister how you helped me the other day, Monsieur 
Englishman, and she agreed with me you would be 
the one to aid us. I should require a proper escort, 
of course, and Edmee was sure you would be able 
to provide it. By the way, she will be here pres- 
ently; she wishes to thank you for your pains the 
other day.” 

This was good news; it gratified me much that 
the demoiselle should trust me well enough to ask 
a service. Unfortunately, I was again doomed to 
disappointment. The Marquis was still talking, 
explaining his requirements, which seemed to me 
impossible to be carried out — nothing less than 
a whole troop of horse would have sufficed, 
when there came a low tapping from behind the 
wall. 

“ ’Tis my sister,” said the boy. “ She comes 
unattended because the way is private. Few know 
of it; not even my uncle. ’Tis why she hath placed 
me here, that she may watch over me unknown. 
Enter, Edmee, there is none here, but Monsieur 
Englishman.” 

At once the arras was lifted, and Mademoiselle 
de Suresne entered through a hidden door near the 
recess. She was clad wholly in white, with long 
hanging sleeves adorned with fine silver work, and 
a silver girdle encircled her waist. I stood before 
her bareheaded and bowing low, expecting for once 
to receive gracious words from her. I was soon un- 
deceived. Instead of graciousness, she regarded me 
with undisguised surprise, and scarce returning my 


A REBUKE AND A RECONCILIATION 213 

greeting, said haughtily, “ You here, monsieur? I 
understood you did not seek my brother.” 

“ Pardon, mademoiselle, I am not here by my 
own will. My lord the Marquis sent for me and I 
came.” 

“ You sent for this gentleman?” and she turned 
to her brother. 

“Certainly P did. Was it not settled so? Did 
you not say yourself that you wanted to see him?” 
the Marquis answered pettishly. “ You were might- 
ily set upon thanking him, and now you seem angry 
that he is here.” 

“ But it was not this gentleman. You told me 
yourself it was the Englishman, Sir Caryl, who 
had aided you.” 

“ Not Sir Caryl, but Monsieur Englishman — this 
one here — his name is too troublesome.” 

“ It was Monsieur de Strathbourne who s'aved 
your life? ” 

“ Who else? Though after all it was no such 
great matter, as monsieur would say for himself; 
it only happened that he was near at hand.” 

“ But I would not have troubled Monsieur de 
Strathbourne for the world,” she persisted. “ It was 
— it was ” and she stopped short. 

I guessed her dilemma; she did not wish her 
brother to know she had spoken to Sir Paul. So I 
broke in: 

” The matter is very simple. It was in pursuance 
of certain orders received from Sir Paul Caryl, who 
was much occupied that day with the new levies, 
that I chanced to be passing when Monsieur le 
Marquis was so treacherously attacked. It was 


214 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


sheer accident that the duty fell to me; I did but 
act as my cousin’s deputy; I did not thrust myself 
forward, I assure you.” Then drawing myself up 
proudly, for her manner had wounded me sore: 
“ It is not well of you, Mademoiselle de Suresne, to 
treat me with such distrust; never in my life have 
I done aught to deserve it. If my poor services can 
be of use, why not accept them as any other lady 
would? ’Tis wronging me cruelly to think I should 
presume.” 

The demoiselle flushed red at my rebuke, for 
rebuke indeed it was, and stood with her eyes cast 
down, biting her lips angrily. I thought I had done 
for myself for good and all, yet was I vexed enough 
to be glad I had spoken. The struggle did not last 
long; my lady’s natural graciousness suddenly over- 
came her pride, and she turned to me, saying: 

“ Monsieur, your reproach is just; though 'tis 
because we owe you so much already I was re- 
luctant to increase the debt. Yet, if it is of your 
own free will, if it is indeed your good pleasure to 
have it so, then, monsieur, I crave your pardon for 
the past, and beg of you to help us.” 

And so, with eyes swimming in tears, she held 
out her hand. I sank on my knees as I raised it to 
my lips, stammering I knew not what. I could not 
speak. I was so ashamed to have caused her such 
distress, I could not even ask her pardon. Yet 
sure am I that she understood; that at last she read 
me rightly. She never doubted me again; from that 
hour there was peace between us. 

The Marquis, who had been looking on amazed, 
now interposed impatiently. 


A REBUKE AND A RE CONCILIA T/ON. 215 

“ Edmee, perhaps you will explain. It is news to 
me that we already owe much to Monsieur English- 
man. I cannot understand what you mean at all — 
I say I cannot understand it.” The young gentle- 
man was fast becoming angry. 

“ Mademoiselle de Suresne takes too exaggerated 
a view of the poor service I was able to render my 
lord the other day,” I answered quickly. “ It is be- 
cause the life of Monsieur le Marquis is so precious 
to her. But by your leave, we will allow it to drop 
now, and speak only of the matter in hand.” Thus 
I easily diverted his attention, and we fell to discuss- 
ing plans for his escape. 

My lord was exceedingly anxious to leave Ispari. 
He had a well-founded knowledge of his own dan- 
ger; yet remembering, perhaps, what had happened 
to him before, his demands were rather extravagant. 
He seemed to think he must be escorted across the 
mountains by half the garrison, and I was to com- 
mand them in person. I was an honest sort of 
fellow, he was pleased to say, one whom he could 
trust to defend him. When he arrived in France his 
rank would give him the ear of the King; he would 
take care I lost nothing by serving him. 

I looked at the demoiselle in dismay, since such 
an escort was, of course, impossible. Unseen by 
him she made me a sign not to refuse. It was no 
use saying much, for the lad was too fretful to be 
contradicted. I simply explained I had no author- 
ity myself to give the necessary orders. I must con- 
sult my kinsman. Sir Paul Caryl. There was no 
doubt but that he would arrange it. Soon after this 
Mademoiselle de Suresne took her leave, and as I 


2 i 6 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

lifted the arras for her to pass out, she whispered 
softly: 

“ Leave him to me; I will talk him over. Truly 
ihe must fly in secret or he will be stayed on the 
way. I trust that to you. So that he escapes safely 
across the frontier, it matters not with whom.” She 
had time for no more; the Marquis looked up sus- 
piciously. But we understood one another, it was 
enough. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 

As soon as I was free I hastened to seek Sir Paul 
at his lodgings. I did not mean to let the grass 
grow under my feet. To my surprise, I found him 
closeted with the Grand Chamberlain, with strict 
orders that he was not to be interrupted. They 
were together for the space of an hour or more, 
and I guessed in vain what might be brewing. Even 
after the Chamberlain had gone and Sir Paul sent 
for me to his presence, he was so deep in thought 
it was some time before he seemed to perceive me. 
At last, with the air of a man who has solved some 
knotty point, my cousin looked up and greeted me 
warmly : 

“ Ah, Jean, you are just the man I want. With 
your help I think I shall baffle them yet. Jean, 
know you that my Lord Chamberlain has been with 
me this hour past?” 

“ So they told me but now,” I returned, “ when 
I sought you on an errand of my own. I trust my 
lord hath no complaint against us?” 

Nay, he brings great news. A troop of Span- 
iards, under Huelva, are on their way to attack 
Lautrec in the rear. There is no doubt, my lord 
15 


217 


2I8 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


says, and from reports he placed before me his in- 
formation seems sure. They will not turn aside 
to touch us; they are making forced marches hop- 
ing to fall upon the Marshal before their presence is 
known. They are keeping to the by-ways the better 
to conceal their movements, but they must cross 
St. Michael’s pass; if we laid in ambush there, in- 
stead of surprising they would be surprised, and we 
should have them at our mercy.” 

“That is good news, indeed!” I cried, wonder- 
ing why Sir Paul looked so grave over it. “ That 
is,” I added quickly, “ if it be true.” 

“ There is so much truth in the matter that I 
must go. I have questioned his messengers my- 
self, and my own spies in part confirm them. I 
have been stationed here not only to hold the city 
but also to sustain the main army — I should be 
dishonoured if the enemy crept by — and yet, Jean,” 
and he paused, looking round warily — “ Come 
nearer, lad, bend your head close to mine, every 
wall in this place has ears — and yet what if it be 
all a ruse, a deep-laid plot to get me out of the 
way? I had my doubts from the beginning, though 
’tis all put together very plausibly. Since my Lord 
Chamberlain hath been with me I doubt him more 
than ever.” 

“ You think he means to betray you into the 
hands of the enemy? ” 

“ That was my idea at first ; since our conference 
I have changed my mind and fear something within 
the city may be intended. For one thing he is 
very earnest that I should take all the best troops. 
His arguments are unanswerable. The new levies. 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 


219 


as you know, are of little use in the field, though 
they might fight well on the walls. They would 
serve to guard the city, my lord says. Maybe, but 
I doubt much their fidelity to the Duke, I do not 
trust them one whit. Their officers are of the Cham- 
berlain’s party to a man; if anything is on foot, 
they are in it; it hath been arranged among them. 
But I have no proof; my lord is too clever for me. 
I can find out nothing.” 

“Then why go?” I asked bluntly. “Why not 
send one of us instead?” 

“ Nay, that is impossible, for if Huelva, indeed, 
be at hand, they might say I had skulked behind 
walls to avoid him. I cannot refuse to do my 
duty because I suspect I know not what, for after 
all it may turn out to be nothing. I have to make 
sure on both sides, and was puzzled at first how to 
play against them. I think, with your help, I have 
made it out now. My Lord Chamberlain rides with 
us. He proposed it himself, guessing surely I would 
not leave him behind, and of course he takes for 
granted that you accompany us. I did not unde- 
ceive him; on the contrary, I took trouble to con- 
firm his impression, but Jean — keep your head 
closer, man — you must stay here.” 

I started at this; yet a moment’s thought, and it 
pleased me well. If absent in the field how could 
I help the demoiselle? It was vexing to lose the 
chance of battle, yet would it have grieved me more 
to fail my lady in her hour of need. 

“ I shall put you in command of the palace 
guard,” Sir Paul went on ; “ if aught should be 
attempted against the Duke, remember you hold 


220 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


my honour in your hand, defend him to the death. 
You will make all preparation as if you were going, 
you will not breathe a word even to your dearest 
friend; but at the very last moment, when my lord 
will have no time to change his plans, I shall com- 
mand you to stay behind. Have ready a score or so 
of picked men — our Englishmen for preference — 
you may take them all an you will.” 

“And Bouquet?” I interrupted; I had a great 
liking for the brave Swiss. 

“Bouquet; by all means, if he pleases you, 
though I fancy he is rather simple. However, you 
can trust him, and that is the chief thing. Keep 
them together; there will be no time for choosing 
when the hour comes, for not until we are actually 
on the march shall I give the order.” 

“And what about Count Vanharten?” It was 
he who had hitherto commanded the palace gar- 
rison. 

“ Vanharten is devoted to my Lord Chamberlain. 
If all were as it seems he would have come with 
us — he is too good a soldier to neglect a chance of 
battle. ’Tis just because he chooses to remain I 
put you over him. If he be an honest man he will 
resent the slight, if he takes it quietly, beware. Do 
you wear that mail shirt I advised?” 

“ Not yet, I like better to depend upon my good 
sword. Still, if you wish it.” 

“ I do not wish now; I command it. I know the 
need better than you. I will speak myself to the 
armourer. You must be all eyes and ears, Jean; 
for if aught happened to the Duke no excuse would 
avail. I should be a dishonoured man. One more 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 


221 


word and I have done. You know the Church of 
St. Gudule? You can see the tower from the palace 
windows.” 

“ I know it well.” 

“ Good. If you find you need help — if it be by 
day, wave a white cloth, if by night, a torch, a 
candle from the sconce. They are sure to close 
the gates first thing; they will not let you send a 
messenger. Wave it until you see the signal re- 
peated from the church tower, then wave thrice 
again, and help will be with you in a few hours. I 
mean to drop Bertelin with fifty men at Hendelet. 
I dare not leave him nearer, for if my fears are 
without foundation I may have need of them my- 
self.” 

‘‘ But if the gates are closed, how will they be 
able to enter? ” 

“ Leave that to me, Jean. I am learning how to 
fight my friends with their own weapons. And 
now I think I have arranged for all; it will be best 
we do not talk privately together again. Stay, 
though; you sought me for some purpose of your 
own. What can I do for you? ” 

I was loth to trouble Sir Paul when he was so 
full of serious concern, but there was no help for 
it, and I told him how I had engaged myself to 
aid the Marquis. Not a word about the demoiselle’s 
intervention, however; I spoke only of her brother. 
Sir Paul dismissed the matter in very few words, 
though he said first: 

I marvel, Jean, that you trouble yourself about 
the lad; has he not friends of his own? Still if you 
have given your word ” — and he shrugged his 


222 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


shoulders as if he thought me very foolish — “ best 
wait, if you can, until I return. I should not think 
the danger pressing now that my Lord Chamberlain 
hath other work on hand. Should the lad think 
otherwise, and he ought to know best, you might 
pass him out as one of the troopers carrying my 
French dispatch. ’Tis time it went, though I had 
meant to wait until this was over. You may send 
it off an you will, but remember you can spare no 
extra men; Aubin and a couple of troopers, as 
usual, no more.” 

I spoke with Mademoiselle de Suresne that same 
night, and when she heard the Chamberlain was to 
accompany the expedition she consented to wait. 

“I must,” she said, a little impatiently. “You 
depart in two days, you say, and Louis will scarce 
be able to travel for a week. You give me little 
choice. It is not your fault; do not think I am 
blaming you,” she added more graciously. “ My 
fears for my brother oft make me unreasonable. 
I doubt not all will go well for the time. I shall 
look forward to your return.” 

For I obeyed orders. Although I knew it would 
have made her feel more secure, I breathed not the 
slightest hint that I was remaining. 

All went exactly as Sir Paul had arranged it. 
The troops marched through the square on their 
way, the Duke and Duchess, and their attendants, 
coming out into the balcony over the great gate to 
see us pass by. Sir Paul and the Grand Chamber- 
lain rode at the head; but when they reached the 
gate Sir Paul turned off, and, halting beneath the 
balcony, spoke for a while with the Duke. Presently 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT 


223 


I was summoned, and hastily invested with com- 
mand of the palace guard, subject only to the Duke 
himself. Directly the Chamberlain found out what 
was going on, he hurried up to remonstrate, but it 
was too late. 

“ A small matter, my lord,” said Sir Paul, speak- 
ing in careless fashion as of a thing indifferent. 

As the Marshal Lautrec left me responsible for the 
Duke’s safety I thought it might be well to augment 
his guard. ’Tis but a handful, as you see ” — the 
men were now marching in — “ we can well spare 
them.” 

“ It is not the men but the captain,” cried the 
Chamberlain hotly. “ It is an insult to Count Van- 
harten to put a young squire over him.” 

“ Nay, that is easily altered. Let Vanharten 
ride with us. If all you have told me be true, we 
may be glad of his experience.” 

A look, at least I fancied so, passed between the 
two men; then Vanharten, who was standing by, 
said, with a half smile: 

“ Pardon, monsieur, but I think my duty is here. 
If the safety of my master the Duke be in question, 
it would ill become me to leave his side. For the 
rest, if his Highness will it so, I am content for a 
time to serve with Monsieur de Strathbourne. We 
are good friends; we shall not quarrel.” 

If Vanharten expected the Duke to interfere he 
was disappointed. That his Highness was ill-pleased 
was evident, he looked black as thunder; but he 
took no part in the dispute; he left all to my Lord 
Chamberlain. 

Since the Count is content it suffices,” said that 


224 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


gentleman sulkily, “ though it would have been 
more courteous had you given him notice. I fol- 
low you, monsieur,” and he waited for my kinsman 
to precede him. But Sir Paul did not budge. He 
was resolved there should be no last words. 

“ Nay, after you, my lord,” he returned, bowing 
to his saddle bow, and after yet another ineffectual 
attempt the Chamberlain was fain to ride on. 

All this occupied but a very few minutes. The 
last of the troops had scarce passed out of the square 
when my men were seeking their quarters, and I 
was standing, cap in hand, before the Duke and 
Duchess. By the former I was received somewhat 
indifferently. For affairs of State he cared not one 
jot, but Vanharten was a favourite boon companion, 
he could drink with him cup for cup. Thus it was 
with a haughtiness he did not often assume he 
turned to me now with: 

“ It is a new thing for command of my guard to 
be given to a beardless stranger. Sir Paul Caryl 
sometimes forgets, I fancy, that he is not Duke 
of Ispari. I should like to know what commands 
you have received. Sir Englishman?” 

“ None, save to defend your Highness’s person 
with my life,” I returned, somewhat abashed by 
the Duke’s severity. 

“ I have yet to learn that it is in danger.” 

“ Monsieur, in these troublous times you are 
always in danger,” interposed the Duchess. “ And 
if Monsieur de Strathbourne be young, remember 
he hath already proved himself; it was he who 
captured the citadel. For my part I am grateful 
to Sir Caryl for this mark of his care.” 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 


225 


So am not I ; I like not to be served by another 
man’s esquire. Since you approve of the young 
man, keep him to yourself; I want not his pro- 
tection. Vanharten is good enough for me. Come, 
Count, I am athirst, we will drink a cup together,” 
and, leaning on his favourite’s shoulder, he rolled 
from the room. 

The Duchess watched his departure anxiously. 
Strange as it may seem, she loved her husband — 
this toper, this wine-cask — she loved him tenderly. 
The youth of the Duchess had been stormy, she had 
reason to be grateful to her lord, and now in his 
decadence she remembered it. She turned to me 
very graciously. 

“ Captain de Strathbourne, I accept your protec- 
tion and will order apartments to be assigned you 
near my own. For the rest, I trust you will not fail 
to report to me. Should need arise, at any hour, 
day or night, you will find me ready to receive 
you.” 

I saw well what she meant. In case of danger 
I was to consult with her, not her husband; we were 
to work together to watch over him. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


ON GUARD. 

Two days later the Duchess honoured me with 
another mark of her confidence, choosing — oh, good 
Duchess! — Mademoiselle de Suresne to convey her 
wishes to me. Of course ’twas sheer accident, she 
guessed nothing, she did but employ the demoiselle 
because she could trust her. It was in the evening, 
when I attended, as was my duty, in the presence 
chamber of the Duchess. The Contessa was laugh- 
ing and jesting with me, doing her best all the time 
to turn me inside out, when her mistress suddenly 
summoned her to take part in a game with the cards. 
Scarce had she left me when the demoiselle glided 
into her place, a small jewelled figure in her hand. 

“ Monsieur,” she said, smiling, “ would it please 
you to admire this puppet presented to her High- 
ness this morning. You pull the cord and the limbs 
move, see — it salutes, it presents arms, ’tis really a 
masterpiece of ingenuity.” And whilst we were 
pulling the silken string, and admiring the toy to- 
gether, she whispered, quickly: “ Monsieur, the 
Duchess wishes you to know she has received in- 
formation that Count Ornano has returned to Ispari 
in disguise.” 


226 


ON GUARD. 


227 


“The Count Ornano? I have heard of him; 
son to the Lord Chamberlain, if I mistake not,” I 
returned in the same tone, dancing the puppet that 
all might see it. 

“ The same ; and as there is no reason why he 
should not show himself openly, my mistress fears 
all may not be well. She prays you be doubly on 
your guard. Nay, monsieur,” with a sudden change 
of voice, “ you must not keep my pretty puppet all 
to yourself. Here is Signor Otger, he has not seen 
it yet,” turning to a handsome youth, one of the 
court pages, who had approached us rather closely. 

The demoiselle gave all her attention to the boy, 
and presently I moved away, considerably perplexed 
by so much mystery. 

Had I known exactly what to guard against, 
where the danger was to come from, my task would 
have been easier. As it was, it seemed like fight- 
ing the air. I could do nothing but keep ever on 
the watch, and trust only to my own vigilance. 

With this object in view, though I kept the main 
body of my Englishmen together, giving Bouquet 
entire charge of the great gate, I mingled a few of 
the most intelligent of them amongst the rest of 
the garrison. By this means I hoped to discover any 
attempts at treachery. They had strict orders to 
report to me anything suspicious. I kept the gates 
always closed. No one was allowed to enter with- 
out stating their business. And after sundown, save 
those who lived in the palace and knew the pass- 
word, no one could come in at all. Altogether, as 
Count Vanharten said, laughing (he ridiculed the 
idea of any particular danger), I put the palace into 


228 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


a state of siege, adding, with a sneer at my inex- 
perience, “ Twas the way with young soldiers, they 
always sought to magnify their command.” 

This was in the morning; later, at the dinner 
table, he jeered at me before them all, asking if he 
should get up a sham attack that I might do 
doughty deeds, and win my spurs of knighthood. 
I laughed and took his banter in good part, but 
held on my way nevertheless, as he found out for 
himself next evening. Whether he acted as he did 
on purpose to try me I know not, but think it very 
likely. 

Count Vanharten went out in the town, and, 
returning with some friends after the gates were 
closed, he was allowed to pass, but his companions 
were denied admittance. The Count did not know 
the pass-word; it had been set after he had left, 
and it was in vain he raged and stormed; Bouquet 
held fast by my orders. I was sent for, but before 
I could arrive the gentlemen had departed. Yet 
was not Vanharten incensed with me, as I expected. 
Violent as he had been with Bouquet, when I came 
upon the scene he turned it off with a jest, vowing 
it was his own fault for not having inquired the 
word. 

Such smoothness made me more doubtful than 
ever, and I redoubled my watchfulness accordingly. 
I took what sleep I needed in the day, and at night, 
after I had made my last round and ostensibly 
retired to rest, I would sally forth, with a towns- 
man’s long cloak concealing my armour, and walk 
for awhile about the city. I had reports brought 
me morning and evening, and always at least once 


ON GUARD. 


229 


a day I rode through the streets. But supposing 
a night attack to be contemplated, there must first 
be an assemblage of men; and if I were on the spot 
I should see something of it. There were so few 
in whom I could put trust. When I saw with my 
own eyes that all was quiet I felt more satisfied. 
Old Aubin generally accompanied me on these ex- 
peditions, but, save Bouquet and the guard, who 
let me in and out, no one else had a suspicion of 
it. Truly I did all I could; I spared neither time 
nor trouble, yet did all my vigilance nearly come 
to naught. I was a novice in this kind of warfare; 
directed by a master hand the enemy were too subtle 
for me. 

How it came about was in this wise: 

It was the fifth day from Sir Paul’s departure. 
In five more days, if all went well, he was expected 
back again, and the town still remained so quiet I 
began to flatter myself my precautions had averted 
the anticipated danger. The afternoon had been 
dull and overcast, with signs of a storm to come, 
and the Duchess, complaining of pains in her head, 
had retired early. The palace was closed for the 
night and the guard set before ten; only in the 
Duke’s private apartments were lights still burning. 
About half an hour later I was waiting on the 
terrace for Aubin to accompany me into the town. 
I meant to make but a short round, for, although 
the threatened storm had passed off, the rain was 
falling in good earnest. It was hardly a night I 
thought for rebellious townsmen to be abroad ; they 
would scarce be able to keep their powder dry. As 
I stood waiting, so secure did I feel, I even hummed 


230 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


a tune under my breath, a song the demoiselle had 
sung to her lute the night before. Suddenly one 
touched me upon the shoulder, and I turned to 
confront Mademoiselle de Suresne herself. She had 
a cloak wrapped around her, but the hood had 
fallen back, and the rain beat upon her uncovered 
head. 

“ Ah, I knew it was you! ” she cried breathlessly, 
and the ring of relief in her tone was unmistakable. 
“ Monsieur Jean ” — she had not styled me thus since 
we were alone upon the mountains — I fear my 
brother is in danger; I pray you come with me 
quickly.” 

I turned my steps towards the tower upon the 
instant, but she checked me with : 

“ Not that way, they may hinder your entrance; 
there will be delay. Come with me, I will explain 
as we go along.” And crossing the terrace she made 
for one of the long windows belonging to the pres- 
ence chambers, which opened beneath her touch. 
“ I unfastened it myself,” she whispered, seeing my 
look of surprise. “ I felt sure it was you upon the 
terrace, and I desired not to pass the guard.” 

It was very dark inside, and I had scarce taken 
three steps when I fell over a footstool, nearly 
measuring my length upon the ground. 

“ Take my hand,” she muttered impatiently. “ It 
is not dark to me; I know the way so well.” 

And with my hand in hers she glided along by 
the wall until she reached the far end behind the 
dais. Here she stooped for a moment. There was 
a slight grating sound as if a panel had been pushed 
aside, and then a rush of cold, damp air. 


ON GUARD, 


231 


*‘Tis a private way to the tower, monsieur. I 
will go first — there is space only for one — and do 
you follow closely. If you keep your hand to the 
wall it will guide you. I left my lamp behind, or 
it would be easier.” 

There was a steep flight of steps, leading down, 
as it seemed, into the bowels of the earth, then a 
low, vaulted passage — I could feel the roof when I 
raised my hand — which must have run underneath 
the courtyard. As we hurried along, I following 
close at the demoiselle’s heels, she acquainted me 
in short, breathless gasps with the reason of her 
alarm. 

“ I was sitting with Louis — I go to him every 
night after the Duchess has dismissed me — when 
the door opened and there was a tall man in a black 
mask. Upon perceiving me he seemed as startled 
as I was and disappeared instantly. Louis did not 
see him, for he had his back to the door; neither 
did Grimadell, my brother’s old servant, who was 
also present. I was too alarmed to say a word at 
first, and before I could think what to do, a servant 
came with a message — Monsieur Otger was waiting 
for me below. The Duchess was ill and required 
my presence instantly. I did not believe, and de- 
manded that Monsieur Otger should come up to 
me. Then another message was brought — Mon- 
sieur Otger might not enter the tower; Captain de 
Strathbourne had given orders, they dared not dis- 
obey. When I heard your name I felt it might be 
true and hurried down to see, first giving strict 
orders to Grimadell that on no pretext was he 
to leave his master for a single instant. I told 


232 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

him to bar the door behind me and let no one in 
at all ” 

“ And was Otger there? I cried, as she paused 
for breath. 

“ No, no, there was no sign of him. They said 
he was unable to wait. He had to summon the 
leech, but he had left two men to escort me, and I 
was to hasten. I dared not refuse to go. I was 
alone, I had not even my woman, and when I looked 
around the faces were all strange. Our own serv- 
ants had been replaced by others; I did not know 
one of them. They hurried me back to the palace, 
where I hoped the sentinel would send for you be- 
fore admitting me. But no, the man knew me; he 
let me pass without question. I flew to the Duch- 
ess; she was asleep. I rushed back again to seek 
for you. Had I not found you on the terrace I 
must have roused the guard, but ’tis better a thou- 
sandfold as it is. If it be but a false alarm you will 
keep my counsel. Yet why should that masked 
man be there, and why should they send me away? 
If aught is amiss we shall be in time, I think. They 
would have to kill Grimadell before they could touch 
his master.” 

And all the while she was speaking, notwith- 
standing it was pitch dark, she did not slacken her 
steps for one instant, but hurried on so fast I had 
much ado to keep up with her and at the same time 
catch her words. 

We are beneath the tower now,” she said pres- 
ently. “ Take care, there are steps that go down 
into the dungeons. We must upwards again. Give 
me your hand until we are past the danger.” 


ON GUARD, 


233 


I could see nothing. The darkness was thicker 
than ever, and I wondered at the demoiselle’s cour- 
age and readiness. She drew me round a corner, 
and we ascended a steep, narrow stair winding round 
inside the wall. At last there came a faint flicker 
of light, and the lamp she had left burning upon a 
ledge revealed a low doorway. 

“ It is here,” the demoiselle whispered, and I 
saw for the first time how blanched she was with 
fear. 

“ Then let me go first,” I rejoined under my 
breath. “ You have brought me hither. It is my 
business now. Do you wait outside until I call?” 

But she caught me by the arm. 

Now, our Lady forgive me! but I never once 
thought of you. I know not even if you are 
armed.” 

I smiled, as, dropping my cloak to the ground, 
I pointed to sword and dagger. 

“ Armed at all points, you see, mademoiselle, 
and besides, I wear a coat of mail. Hist! what is 
that?” as a gurgling, choking sound came to our 
ears, and, pushing open the door, I softly entered. 


16 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE ASSASSIN OF THE TOWER. 

It was a strange sight that met my eyes when I 
lifted the arras. The young Marquis was on the 
ground, black in the face, almost at his last gasp, 
beneath the grasp of a man who, with both hands 
around the lad’s throat, was doing his utmost to 
strangle him. A little distance beyond, in a blood- 
stained pool slowly widening around, was stretched 
the body of the faithful servant. Beyond him again, 
calmly wiping his dagger ere he sheathed it, stood 
a tall man in a black mask. 

I did not waste much time in looking on. Mak- 
ing for the wretch who was strangling the Marquis, 
I dragged him from his victim by main force, and, 
before he knew what was happening, I had hurled 
him from me, so that his skull cracked like an egg- 
shell against the stone wall. The masked assassin 
was just as quick. Before I had time to turn, he 
leapt upon me, plunging his dagger into my back. 
My good mail coat now served me well, the point 
glanced aside; I was unharmed. Seeing this, he 
had his sword out in a trice, and we fell to with a 
will. My unknown adversary fought after the Ital- 


234 


THE ASSASSIN OF THE TOWER. 


235 


ian fashion, with sword and dagger both, one in 
each hand, a mode in which I was not expert. Nei- 
ther of us spoke a word, only the clashing of the 
sword-blades, and the heavy stertorous breathing 
of Monsieur le Marquis, broke the silence. Even 
this latter ceased at length, and I feared the boy 
was dead. 

But I dared not look round, my enemy pressed 
me so hard I could not take my eyes from him for 
a moment. 

I soon found that my antagonist was much the 
better swordsman, and had he only been as cool as 
he was skilful, I should have had no chance. But 
I had startled him somewhat, appearing so suddenly, 
he knew not from whence, and this gave me a 
slight advantage. Still I had as much as ever I 
could do to hold my own; instead of pressing him 
I had to defend myself. At last by great good 
fortune, I pierced him slightly in the shoulder. This 
made him furious. He jumped forwards with a sud- 
den bound, meaning to drive his dagger home, 
when, dropping my sword, L caught his arm. We 
struggled together, swaying this way and that, and 
I stepped in the blood of the murdered servant; my 
foot slipped, I fell on one knee, and he bore me to 
the ground. There was a piercing cry from Made- 
moiselle de Suresne — I had not known she was there 
— his dagger flashed before my eyes, and I struck 
at him impotently with clenched fist. He laughed 
aloud, raised his dagger again, then, as I tried to 
mutter a prayer, feeling sure my last hour had come, 
the sharp blade glanced aside, he fell forwards, gave 
one shudder and was still. Looking up to see who 


236 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

was my deliverer, to my astonishment I found it to 
be the young Marquis. He had stabbed my antag- 
onist in the back. 

“ I — I thought you were dying or dead,” I 
gasped, as I struggled to my feet. 

“Not quite; you arrived in the very nick of 
time. Yet was I no nearer the end than you just 
now. Methinks we can cry quits. I knew exactly 
where to plant my blow; the caitiff himself taught 
me. He said it never failed, and he was right, you 
see.” 

“ You know him, then? ” 

“ Ay, that do I, ’twas that gave me strength to 
come to your assistance; I owed him for the last 
time as well. Know him, yes, ’tis my uncle’s dear 
friend Vivares,” and, stooping, he tore the mask 
from the dead man’s face. 

It was Vivares, indeed, his eyes staring wide 
open, his features distorted hideously. It was a 
gruesome sight, and I covered his face hastily, just 
as the demoiselle came to my side. 

“ Monsieur, you are hurt,” she cried. “ It is 
necessary, before all things, that your wounds should 
be attended to.” 

I raised my hand, and found I was bleeding 
from a wound in the neck; his dagger had grazed 
me as he fell. 

“ Nay, ’tis but a scratch, mademoiselle,” I an- 
swered. “ Thanks to your brother, I have escaped 
scot free.” 

Yet would she not be content until she had 
bound my hurt with her own kerchief, whilst the 
Marquis looked on with scant patience. 


THE ASSASSIN OF THE TOWER. 


237 


“ ’Tis but a scratch, Edmee, as he says,” he cried 
irritably. “ My hurts are worse than his. I still 
bear the marks of that villain’s fingers.” 

“ Ah, what has become of him; has he escaped? ” 
I said. In the excitement of the combat I had al- 
most forgotten there was another. 

“ Escaped, no, there he lies in yon corner. 
Whether any life is left in him I know not; still, 
to make sure . . . .” and before I could stay him 
the Marquis drove his still reeking dagger into the 
unconscious man. It was almost as if he were 
proud of his skill, and glad of an opportunity to 
display it. 

“ Nay,” he said, in answer to my cry of remon- 
strance, “ he must not live to tell tales. But half 
your work is accomplished yet. Monsieur English- 
man. You have to get me away. I must be on 
the road before this is discovered, or they will not 
fail again. Not all of those below will be in the 
secret; if we bar the door and leave by the private 
way it may give us a few hours. Come, sir, help 
me to secure the door in the outer room,” and the 
boy, so lately almost at his last gasp, now took the 
lead in a way that half astonished, half amused me. 
It never occurred to him to ask if I could carry out 
his wishes; he thought he had but to signify his 
will and it must be done. 

When we came in again from the other room the 
demoiselle was praying beside the servant who had 
given his life for his master. It was the only requiem 
the poor man had, for the Marquis never gave him 
a second thought. She rose as we entered and 
looked at me questioningly; she was not quite so 


238 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


confident as her brother. Happily, thanks to Sir 
Paul, I thought I saw my way to arrange the mat- 
ter. Still, it was necessary for the boy to under- 
stand, and I spoke very decidedly. 

“ It may be as well for Monsieur le Marquis to 
know that if he quits Ispari to-night he must forget 
his rank and travel as a common trooper. I have 
the power to send dispatches to France at any hour; 
he must leave disguised as one of the messen- 
gers. In that way only can I be answerable for his 
safety.” 

“So I go ; I care not if it be as a beggar,” 
he answered quickly. “ I am not rid of the fel- 
low’s clutch yet,” and his hand went up to his 
throat. 

“ Good, we will lose no time then; it would be 
well if you were on the way at once.” 

We left the three dead men to watch one an- 
other, and taking the candle from the sconce to light 
us — there was no need to travel in the dark now — 
we made our way to the panel door. I extinguished 
the light here, lest we should be seen, and moved 
a little aside whilst mademoiselle said farewell to her 
brother. This did not take very long; he was too 
impatient to be gone. Then the demoiselle retreated 
to her own apartments, and we went out through 
the window to the guard-house. Therq were only 
my men here, and I could trust them to hold their 
tongues. Bouquet soon . found a dress for the Mar- 
quis, though ’twas somewhat large for his slender 
figure, and, taking old Aubin aside, I explained to 
him what I wanted. 

“ I cannot leave my post myself,” I said. “ I 


THE ASSASSIN OF THE TOWER. 


239 


must e’en trust him to you. Remember, ’tis all the 
world to me that he reach France in safety. I may 
only send two with you; the usual escort, such is 
Sir Paul’s command, but you may choose whom 
you will. After all it may be safer, since a larger 
number might excite suspicion. Treat the young 
gentleman with all consideration, but pay no at- 
tention to his whims; at times he is apt to be petu- 
lant. ’Tis you I place in command mind; think only 
of his safety.” 

“ I understand,” returned the old fellow stoutly. 
“ Give me Jervis and Dickon, and ’tis hard if we 
‘cannot hold in a boy. I will look after him. Cap- 
tain Jean, as if he were yourself; more I cannot 
say.” 

Then we arranged about the route, and the rate 
of travelling, and how they should let me know 
when they had arrived safely. All this did not take 
so long as you might think, old Aubin being well 
accustomed to set off on long journeys at short 
notice. The horses were brought forth, the side- 
gate opened, and they rode out into the quiet city. 
They went through the streets at a slow pace not 
to excite remark, and, by taking a short cut on foot, 
I arrived at the gates almost as soon as they did. 
I wanted to see them safely out, but not to show 
myself unless necessary. Old Aubin and Jervis rode 
in front, the young Marquis, his steel cap well over 
his face, following with the other trooper. There 
was some little parley before they were allowed to 
pass. Aubin had a written permit signed by me, 
there ought not to have been the slightest trouble; 
yet the guard questioned him closely. When had 


240 


JOHN OF STRATHBOUKNE. 


he the dispatches, and what made him ride so late? 
Then Aubin bent forward with a hiccough as if half 
intoxicated, and muttered thickly in his barbarous 
Italian: 

“ ’Tis all the fault of your good wine, captain. 
I ought to have set out before sundown; but I had 
so many parting cups to empty, I went to sleep 
instead. Let me out speedily I pray you, lest it 
come to my captain’s ears.” 

Still they hesitated, and I crept closer, sheltering 
myself behind a gatepost. 

“ It must be right,” I heard one say to the other; 
the English are always drunken.” 

“ He said none were to go out,” returned an- 
other voice; “not a man was to pass after mid- 
night.” 

“ And it is not midnight by an hour, fool. No 
one knows anything yet; if we stop them it may 
give the alarm. Pass on, friend, you will escape 
your captain’s wrath to-night,” adding, as Aubin 
and his party quickly clattered out of hearing, “ Ay, 
and all other nights, too, if all go well. Think 

you ” and here they turned into the gate-house 

out of the rain, and I could hear no more. I had 
heard enough, however, to alarm me not a little. 
Who was this mysterious he, whose orders were to 
override mine? What was to begin at midnight? 
Could anything be happening at the palace and I 
not there? And with that I caught my sword by 
the scabbard that it might not impede my steps, 
and set to and ran with all my might. I had to 
slacken my speed somewhat on nearing the centre 
of the town, for — another strange thing — inclement 


THE ASSASSIN OF THE TOWER, 


241 


as was the night, many men were abroad, all hurry- 
ing in the same direction. I dare not question them 
lest my speech should betray me; besides, I now 
knew enough — mischief was on foot, that was cer- 
tain. All I wanted was to get before them to the 
palace. With this object in view I was turning down 
a side street, when someone tapped me smartly on 
the shoulder. I started, but made no sign; only 
drew my cloak closer about my face, and held my 
sword in readiness. 

“ Not that way,” said the man, who also was 
cloaked and hooded, but looked like one of the 
citizens. “ Know you not that the place of assem- 
bly hath been changed? ’Tis in the market, not in 
the square; we shall be under shelter then until all 
is ready.” 

I muttered something through my cloak and 
walked on by his side. The market-place was in 
my way, ’twould be easier to escape after. He bab- 
bled on as if liking to hear himself talk. 

“ Many of us marvelled it was not put of¥ alto- 
gether when the night turned out so ill, but he 
would not have it so, he said ’twould be all the bet- 
ter for our purpose. Besides, he hath a riise, they 
say, that will make our task easy, though in truth 
I know not what it is. Perhaps you are better in- 
formed? ” 

I shook my head. 

“ No? Ah, well, he tells not his plans to all, but 
■’tis something to rid us of the Englishmen. The 
others are ours as you know; we shall have a new 
Duke before morning.” 

Here we turned into the market-place, which 


242 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


was more than half full of armed men, and, taking 
advantage of an overturned stall, I glided behind it 
and dived down the first alley that presented itself. 
There was nobody about here, so I took to my 
heels again, and did not cease running until I came 
out upon the square before the palace. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 


FOUL TREASON. 

The rain fell, the wind blew, but — praise be to 
Heaven — the square was empty. All seemed safe 
as yet, and, with a long sigh of relief, I made for the 
nearest gate. I could see no sentry pacing within 
as there should have been, and, thinking they were 
skulking from the weather, I shouted for admittance. 
No one answered. I put my hand on the gate. It 
was unfastened and gave way beneath my touch. 
I rushed in. The guard-house was empty save two 
or three of the English I had placed amongst the 
garrison, and they were snoring on the ground like 
pigs. I kicked them with all my force, but they 
never moved; almost it seemed as if they had been 
drugged. I ran out again, the keys of the gate were 
gone, but there were some bars and bolts, which 
I shot into place fast as I could. Black treachery 
had been at work, that was clear. I wondered what 
I should find waiting for me farther on. 

It was a vast relief when, as the great entrance 
came in sight, I saw the sentries on duty pacing to 
and fro, one before the gate, the other before the 
guard-house. The latter I dispatched instantly to 
the farther gate — there were three you may remeni- 
243 


244 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


ber — with orders to return and report to me upon 
what he found there, whilst I went within to alarm 
Bouquet. What was my horror to find the Swiss 
sitting before the table, his head upon his arms, fast 
asleep; and lying around were the rest of the guard, 
senseless like those I had left behind me. I uttered 
a cry of despair. Were all the men like this I was 
helpless indeed ! Catching Bouquet by the shoulder, 
I kicked and buffeted him without mercy, until at 
last he half opened his eyes. Seeing who it was 
thus assaulting him, he tried to stagger to his 
feet. 

“Man, man, have you also betrayed me!” I 
cried bitterly. “ What is it you have been drink- 
ing?” 

“ Nothing but the wine you sent yourself, cap- 
tain,” he answered huskily. “ A few bottles from 
the Duke’s table to keep out the wet.” 

“ That I sent, rascal? When did you ever know 
me give wine to men on duty? Look, look around ” 
— and I kicked the nearest hog. 

Bouquet seemed by this time to become aware 
that something was amiss. He took a few steps, 
staggered, then making for a bucket of water, 
plunged his head in until I thought he would be 
suffocated. When at last he raised his dripping 
visage he was more himself : 

“ My captain, I give you my word I am not 
drunk, there is some cursed treachery here. I have 
tasted nothing save one draught of wine when I 
clinked glasses with monsieur your friend.” 

“My friend! What friend? Who was it?” 

“ I know not his name, he was a stranger to me. 


FOUL TREASON, 


245 


A young man, somewhat older than yourself, with 
peaked beard, Spanish fashion. He was dressed in 
blue velvet like a court gentleman, and halted on 
one leg. He said he came straight from the Duke’s 
table ” 

“He came from within, not from without?” I 
interrupted. 

“ Surely, captain, or I should have challenged 
him. A servant was at his back carrying a dozen 
or so of bottles in a basket. You had sent them 
for the men, he said ; the night was wet, a moderate 
draught of wine would not hurt them.” 

“ But you knew I was not in the palace, you let 
me out of the gates yourself,” I cried. 

It was all the same. V You had sent it,” Bouquet 
repeated stupidly; “ the gentleman said he had come 
from you. He opened a bottle himself and we drank 
together before he went.” 

“ And he drank also? ” 

“Faith, no, not all; I recollect now, he stum- 
bled and spilt most of it. Oh, my eyes are closing; 
’tis coming on again,” and he rushed once more to 
the bucket. 

Too late, I remembered Sir Paul’s warning, 
“ Bouquet is simple.” However, it was no use re- 
proaching him now. 

“ Has every man tasted this accursed stuff? ” 
I asked, when he was able to speak. 

“ No, no, no! ” he cried quickly, “ only those on 
duty. The two outside were late; I withheld their 
share to punish them. The relief guard are still 
sleeping above — that was for them.” And he pointed 
to half-a-dozen bottles in one corner. 


246 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


I raised my foot to dash them to atoms; then 
refrained. If we survived to tell the tale they might 
come in useful. I dropped them instead into a chest 
that stood by, and carefully turned the key. 

“Now for the men above, summon all; thank 
Heaven there is someone,” and they came running 
down at first call, a dozen of them at least, in full 
possession of their faculties. At the same moment, 
the sentry I had sent to the other gate came in to 
make his report. One look at his face was enough. 
He had found the gate open and deserted, and his 
comrades dead drunk in the guard-house. 

I left Bouquet and the men to make all three 
gates fast as they could, and, taking one trooper 
with me in case of need, I now hurried within the 
palace to find out what was going on there. By 
the lights in the windows the Duke still held high 
revel. I knew not who the stranger with the halt- 
ing leg might be, but if Vanharten were there he 
should give an account to me. We passed through 
the doors without questioning. Not a servant was 
at his post, and when we reached the ante-room, 
where the pages should have been in waiting, that 
also was empty. The Chamberlain had surrounded 
the Duke with creatures of his own; in the hour of 
danger they all forsook him. 

And what a sight met my eyes when I threw 
open the door of the banqueting-room. The Duke 
sat at the head of the table side-ways in his chair; 
his head fallen back, his face flushed, his mouth 
gaping wide open. At intervals here and there sat 
the only companions left him — the few who might 
have proved faithful. Some leant forward, face 


FOUL TREASON. 


247 


downwards upon the table; some were twisted in 
strange contortions; some had fallen to the ground; 
but all, without exception, were unconscious — 
drunk or drugged. Needless to say. Count Van- 
harten was not among them. 

What to do at first I knew not. It was impos- 
sible to leave the Duke thus; yet for aught I knew 
the Duchess might be in dire peril. I soon made 
up my mind, though — there was no time to waste 
in thinking — and taking up his Highness by the 
head and shoulders, I ordered my companion to 
support his feet. We carried him downstairs, 
through all the long passages, into the presence 
chamber, where I had so lately parted from the 
demoiselle. We met not a soul on the way. The 
palace could not have been more deserted had it 
been tenanted only by the dead. We laid our burden 
down at the foot of the great staircase, and, leav- 
ing the trooper to watch over him, I ran up to find 
if the Duchess had been forsaken in the same fashion 
as her husband. Heaven be thanked, I had scarce 
set- foot within the ante-room, before the page 
started to his feet, and barred my passage with 
drawn sword. 

“ Keep back, whoever you are, or I run you 
through! ” he exclaimed. “ What is your business 
here? ” 

It was young Otger, a lad whom I both dis- 
trusted and disliked. Yet, as I look back now, I see 
I had no reason save a jealous one. The boy fan- 
cied himself in love with Mademoiselle de Suresne, 
and was always hovering around her. He drew 
back when he recognised me, and would have 


248 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

muttered some apology, only I interrupted him 
with: 

“ Speak out, now. Monsieur Otger, if there be 
any truth at all in this city of yours, speak out as 
man to man. Are you for the Chamberlain or the 
Duchess? ” 

He recoiled as if he thought me mad. But I 
went on. 

‘‘ If for the Chamberlain, go ! I give my word 
you shall pass freely, but I want no more traitors 
here.” 

He glared at me defiantly, “ Traitor in your 
teeth, proud Englishman! I am for my mistress 
heart and soul, against you or against any man.” 

I could have embraced him, I felt so glad. 
“ Good, good, now we know where we are,” and 
I grasped his unwilling hand. “ There is foul 
treachery abroad to-night; the Duchess has need of 
every friend. Call her women, I beg of you; tell 
them to arouse her Highness, and that instantly. 
Then come back to me here.” 

He obeyed me without another word, and I 
waited until he returned, meaning he should help 
me with the Duke. A very few minutes brought 
him back, and I was hurrying down, when I saw 
something that made me pause. The door of the 
ante-room opened on to a long corridor dimly 
lighted midway by a hanging lamp. As I came 
out, I caught sight of two muffled figures. They 
glided for a moment beneath the light, only to be 
lost next moment in the gloom. They were coming 
towards me, and, beckoning Otger to my side, we 
drew back in the shade awaiting them. As they 


FOUL TREASON. 


249 


came nearer, I saw the foremost was a woman, car- 
rying a small case under her arm. Close behind 
followed a man, both moving with the greatest care 
so as to make no noise. Just before they reached 
the staircase, I stepped forth and confronted them. 
The woman uttered a stifled scream ; her hood 
slipped back; it was the Contessa Motocaro. The 
man muttered an oath, and laid his hand upon his 
•sword; then, after a whispered word with his com- 
panion, fell back and left it to her. 

“ Well met. Monsieur de Strathbourne,” said the 
Contessa caressingly, coming forward and laying 
her hand upon my arm. “ Well met, indeed, though 
truly your sudden appearance somewhat startled 
me.” Then, putting her head so close to mine that 
her warm breath fanned my face: “ I have here a 
friend — a friend of my husband’s — who because he 
has enemies at court prefers to visit me in secret. 
In talking the time slipped away, and, fearful of evil 
tongues, I wish to let him out privily. With you I 
am sure my secret is safe;” and she smiled upon 
me so sweetly that had my heart not been elsewhere, 
I might have been beguiled. As it was, her trouble 
was wasted, and I answered coldly: 

“You are leaving with your friend?” and I 
touched her cloak and the casket, which she tried 
to hide. 

“ Nay, monsieur, for what do you take me? I 
but accompany him as far as the sentry to see that 
he passes without trouble. Ma foi, we are so well 
looked after here,” and she shrugged her shoulders 
with a pretty air of impatience. “ It is difficult to 
get out as if we were in prison. Dear Monsieur de 

17 


250 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


Strathbourne, I pray you let my friend go quickly; 
you would not get me into trouble.” 

As she spoke the man moved, and my heart 
leaped into my mouth as I saw he halted on one 
leg. It seemed almost too good to be true that the 
traitor should thus fall into my power. Yet was I 
in a dilemma. I had left the Duke below guarded 
but by one trooper; I was in an agony of fear lest 
aught should happen to him. Happily I betrayed 
nothing of this in my countenance. Living in Ispari 
had at least taught me how to conceal my real senti- 
ments, and I answered her lightly, in the same low 
tone we had used all through. 

“ It is indeed a good thing you met me, Con- 
tessa. Finding by chance the sentry at the door had 
deserted his post, I put my own man there instead. 
He would not have allowed your friend to pass. I 
will go get him out of the way — servants have long 
tongues, you know — if monsieur your friend will 
wait in this room for a few minutes. Here is only 
Monsieur Otger, and he, I am sure, is discretion 
itself.” 

This was another surprise for Madame la Con- 
tessa; she had not seen the youth before. Rather 
to my astonishment, directly she recognised him, 
her face brightened. 

“ Otger? Oh no, I am not afraid of him,” she 
cried quickly, silencing her friend, who was about 
to remonstrate; he seemed very unwilling to wait. 
But after more whispering, very energetic on the 
Contessa’s part, he reluctantly acquiesced and fol- 
lowed her into the room. 

“They are traitors; keep them at any cost,” I 


FOUL TREASON. 


251 


muttered in the boy’s ear just the one moment their 
backs were turned; then, closing the door, I flew 
down the stairs as if the devil himself were behind 
me. From the Contessa consenting to wait so read- 
ily I knew well she had some plan in her head. I 
might be outwitted even yet. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 

I FOUND everything below just as I had left it. 
No one had been near, the Duke had not stirred; 
save for his heavy breathing, one would have 
thought him dead. I tore down a long curtain that 
covered his Highness from head to foot — I did not 
want him to be recognised too soon — then we car- 
ried him up as before, I giving my trooper his orders 
on the way. Directly the Duke was set down he 
was to run and fetch Bouquet to me with all speed; 
the other men, bringing their senseless companions 
with them, were to assemble at the foot of the stair- 
case. I had given up all hope of defending the 
gates, for I had not men enough; but thought I 
could hold the staircase. We ascended quietly as 
we could, though in truth the Duke was no light 
weight, and when I put my ear to the door before 
opening it, I heard the Contessa's voice in subdued 
but angry expostulation. 

“ You are my cousin, my ward, my husband is 
your guardian,” she was saying. “ You owe me 
obedience; how dare you to interfere with me? We 
must be gone before that fool is back. He may find 
that will make him linger. Let us pass, I say. 

252 


A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 


253 

Would you serve a stranger rather than your own 
cousin? ” 

“ I serve the Duchess, and I believe the English- 
man to be her friend. I will not let you go until 
he returns.” 

“Enough of this!” interrupted another voice. 
“ Stand aside, boy, or it will be the worse for you. 
Stand aside, or ” 

I thought it was time to interfere now, and, 
pushing open the door, we carried in our burden. 
No one could see who it was; the curtain covered 
his Highness completely. It was as if we were 
bringing in a dead body. For a moment all three 
stared in astonishment; then my stranger gentle- 
man, guessing the game was up, made a bolt for the 
door. Even if I had had to drop the Duke I should 
have stayed him, but young Otger was a boy of 
resource. He jumped in front and barred the fel- 
low’s passage. 

“ You dare to stay me! ” he cried fiercely, and at 
once swords were drawn, and they set to. 

I deposited the Duke upon a low couch in one 
corner — the trooper slipped out — then with sheathed 
sword I interfered between the combatants, knock- 
ing the stranger’s weapon out of his hand. 

“ Monsieur, you forget where you are,” I said 
sharply. “ The ante-chamber of the Duchess is no 
place for scenes of strife.” 

“ Let me go, then,” he cried again, almost foam- 
ing with anger. 

“ Softly, softly, I pray. I fear I must trouble 
you first to answer a few questions. Monsieur 
Otger, go you yonder,” and I pointed to the couch. 


254 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Stand before that sleeping man with bare sword. 
Whatever happens here move not from your post, 
stir not hand or foot. I command you, in the name 
of the Duchess, to guard him with your life.” 

The youth looked astonished, but he obeyed me 
to the letter. He took his place without a word. 

The Contessa did not interfere. Indeed, all had 
taken place so quickly she had not time. But now 
her friend turned upon her, saying savagely : 

“ It is you I have to thank for this. It is all 
through your cursed delay.” 

“ Nay, thank your own covetousness,” she re- 
torted — the Contessa always held her own. “ You 
insisted upon having the casket, and I could not get 
it because of Mademoiselle de Suresne. Blame her 
for being about so late, for that in truth is the real 
cause of it. And what matters it for you? If all 
be as you told me, ’tis but a short delay; whilst for 
me — I shall be lost.” Then, turning to where I 
stood close by listening with all my ears, “ Monsieur 
de Strathbourne, I crave your mercy. If my mis- 
tress find me abroad to-night I am indeed un- 
done.” 

“ Go then,” I replied. “ I do not war with 
women. Go back to your apartments, the way is 
closed below. Leave the casket behind. I will take 
charge of that.” 

I did not know in the least what the said casket 
might contain, but from her companion’s anxiety to 
obtain possession of it, evidently something of con- 
sequence. 

“ You will not breathe my name? ” she said, 
looking at me steadily. 


A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 


255 


“ Not one word, I promise.” 

‘‘Take it, then. Hist! here they come.” And 
she made her way out at one end of the room 
just as the Duchess, accompanied by Mademoi- 
selle de Suresne and other ladies, entered at the 
other. 

The stranger tried to follow the Contessa, hop- 
ing to get out with a rush, and when I caught his 
collar he turned upon me with his dagger. For 
the second time that night the coat of mail saved 
my life. 

The Duchess, who, roused hastily from her sleep, 
was clad in some disarray, stood still in amaze- 
ment, as well she might. For whilst on one side 
was her page standing motionless with drawn sword, 
on the other were two men engaged in a fierce strug- 
gle. My adversary let me go directly he perceived 
the Duchess, however, and, throwing his cloak to 
the ground, dropped on one knee before her. 

“ Count Ornano, you here ! ” was her startled 
cry, and she looked at me questioningly. 

“ Even so, madame, your poor servant, Ornano, 
and I throw myself upon the protection of your 
Highness.” 

“ I shall be very glad to hear what the Count 
Ornano is doing in my apartments at this hour.” 

“ A lady is concerned in the matter, madame, 
an old friend who wished to see me unknown to all. 
I came — I was departing, when this English ruffian 
stayed me. He alone is the cause of this disturb- 
ance.” 

“ Pray, which of my ladies did you come to see, 
monsieur? ” 


256 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


“ Have mercy. Ask me not that, your High- 
ness, or at least let it be in private. I give you my 
word it shall not happen again.” 

“ Hold the door. Monsieur de Strathbourne. 
Now, sir, once more, the name of the lady.” 

“ Since you will have it, then ” — and he looked 
round, as if daring me to contradict him — “ it was 
Mademoiselle de Suresne, my promised wife.” 

“You lie!” I exclaimed, starting forward, and, 
as there was now more light in the room, for the 
first time, I recognised him. It was the smart cava- 
lier who had insulted the demoiselle when entering 
Dunstans. He who had been punished so cleverly 
by Nanette. This accounted for his lameness — truly 
the old mule had done her work well — and also for 
mademoiselle’s repugnance when he was made 
known to her. But he did not remember me; I 
could see that very well. 

The Duchess waved me back. 

“ Count Ornano, you have made an unfortunate 
selection. I saw a woman’s skirts whisk through 
the opposite door as I entered, and Mademoiselle 
de Suresne is with me here. Besides ” — and here 
she smiled rather maliciously — “ I heard something 
of what passed before I came in. The captain of 
my guard gives his word too readily. Edmee, is 
not that my jewel casket on the floor yonder? I 
think it will be safer in your care. If you have noth- 
ing more against the Count, Monsieur de Strath- 
bourne, I think he may go. The palace will be well 
quit of him. The woman I will deal with myself. 
It was for this you aroused me, I suppose?” and 
her glance turned towards the page. She could 


A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE, 


257 

not see what was behind him — the couch stood in 
the shadow. 

“ Not for this at all, your Highness,” I cried 
quickly. “ I ventured to call you up before dis- 
covering my gentleman here. Yet, before the Count 
departs he must answer a few questions.” And I 
told her in brief words of the deserted gates and 
drugged guard. But before I had half done her 
manner changed, and she cried angrily: 

“ And you stand prating here whilst, perhaps, 
they are murdering my lord. What consequence 
is my safety? What matters anything? I will go 
to him at once. Keep yon man fast; his life will 
answer for my husband’s. Out of my path; dare 
not to stay me! ” and in her passion she would have 
swept me aside. I caught at her dress. 

“ Madame, your Highness, the Duke is here.” 

‘‘Here — where?” and she looked around. She 
did not believe. I pointed to the couch. 

“ Monsieur Otger, lift the curtain.” 

The Duchess ran to her lord’s side, uttering a 
sharp cry: “Is he dead?” 

“ Not dead, but insensible, madame. They have 
treated him no better than my men.” 

The Count turned a livid yellow when he saw 
the Duke. He seemed as if he could scarce believe 
his eyes. Then, as he listened to my explanation, 
his look of amazement turned to baffled rage. Still, 
he would not give in even yet. Recovering his self- 
possession, he said, calmly: 

“ Seeing that I was found in quite another part 
of the palace, even this addle-pated fellow scarce 
dare accuse me of being concerned in the matter.” 


258 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Speak out, Monsieur de Strathbourne,” inter- 
rupted the Duchess. “ Do you accuse the Count 
of this or not? ” 

“Not yet. I am waiting,” and here — oh, joy? 
— Bouquet at last made his appearance. He halted 
just inside the door; but, before I could speak, his 
eyes fell upon Ornano. With one bound he was 
by his side. 

“ This is the man, my captain, who brought in 
the poisoned wine; this is the villain who made 
me clink glasses with him. In blue velvet — see? — 
with a peaked beard, and halting on one leg. Did 
I not describe him exactly? Ah, wretch, I have 
you now,” and he shook the Count like a rat. 

“ Hands of¥. Bouquet,” I cried. “ The Duchess 
is present.” But the man’s fury carried conviction 
with it. There was no more to be said. The Count 
Ornano threw of¥ the mask then, and, turning to 
me: 

“ Enough of this,” he exclaimed. “ It is time 
now to come to terms. My friends are close at 
hand. Let me go, and I swear to protect the Duch- 
ess. You cannot resist us. The garrison is mine; 
you have but a handful of foreigners.” 

The Duchess looked at me with eyes full of fear. 

“ It is true, madame,” I returned. “ We are only 
a handful, but we can hold our own until help 
arrives.” 

“No help can arrive,” interposed the Count tri- 
umphantly. “ There is no one to whom you could 
send — not even a dog could get out of Ispari to- 
night. We mean to tell our own tale when the time 
comes. Hark, they are at hand!” He threw open 


A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE. 


259 


the window, and we heard the sound of trampling 
feet, the hum of many voices. “You hear?” he 
repeated threateningly. “ A word from me, and 
they lay down their arms; your mistress, the Duch- 
ess, is safe.” 

“And the Duke?” 

“ I will do my best for him; but the drunken 
sot hath already lost his throne — he is no longer 
Duke of Ispari.” 

“ That remains to be seen. At any rate, he is 
Duke here. Madame, will you give me permission 
to arrest this man in your presence? ” 

“ I give you permission to do all you will, my 
captain. I place everything in your hands.” 

I waited for no more, but, advancing to the 
Count, said: 

“ Do you yield yourself my prisoner, rescue or 
no rescue? ” 

“ Hardly ” — and he laughed — “ seeing that my 
friends are at the gates. I am unarmed,” and he 
threw his dagger from him. “ If you hurt me now 
it will be murder.” 

“ Nay, I leave that to my Lord Chamberlain 
and his friend, Vivares ; but I mean to hold you fast. 
Bind him hand and foot. Bouquet, and make sure 
that the cords are secure.” 

The noise outside had by this time swelled into 
a roar, and “Down with the Duke!” “Death to 
the Duke!” “Long live Duke Honatrin!” — the 
name of the Chamberlain — came plainly to our ears. 

Now that the aim of the insurgents was thus 
openly declared, I felt it time to signal for help. 

“ See, madame,” I cried, taking a candle from 


26 o JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

the sconce and going to the window, “ watch yon- 
der tower of St. Gudule. We English are not quite 
so simple as we seem. Sir Paul Caryl anticipated 
something of this, and prepared for it. I am not 
so deprived of help as the Count Ornano and his 
friends imagine,” and I waved the light in the air. 
Almost instantly an answering signal flashed forth. 
I waved again three times, and in a very few min- 
utes the iron basket on the church tower kindled 
into flame. It was a signal visible for miles, and 
my heart rejoiced when I saw it blazing merrily. 

“ Now, an it please your Highness,” I said, as I 
turned away, “ I will leave the prisoner here whilst 
I go and make ready for the defence.” 

“ Monsieur Otger, you may leave your post. 
The Duke is safe now, and I need your help else- 
where.” 


CHAPTER XXIX.' 


THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS. 

The insurgents, separating into two bodies, had 
reached the side gates by now, and very much sur- 
prised they were to find them closed and fastened. 
They made no attempt to break in, however, but 
swept round to the front, where, after a short con- 
sultation, a trumpet was sounded, and someone de- 
manded a parley. I sent Otger to see what they 
wanted; I was busy superintending the erection of 
a barricade across the staircase. The marble steps 
were broad and shallow, but three parts of the way 
up there was a sharp turn and space of landing, 
and it was here I meant to make a stand. We first 
carried up the drugged men, depositing them out 
of harm’s way in the ante-room, then bringing up 
all the furniture from below we built up a strong 
barricade. Sheltered behind this, we could sweep 
the whole staircase, without getting much hurt our- 
selves. If they came with a rush they would have 
to dash against the pikes, while men above could 
fire down upon them. The danger was lest we 
should be overpowered by sheer numbers. Van- 
harten was a brave and skilful captain; if he were 
but well seconded it might go hard with us. Still, 


262 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

St. Gudule’s beacon carried far. I thought I should 
be able to hold out until the promised help arrived. 
Presently the page came back to me. 

“ Vanharten, that foul traitor, is at their head,” 
said the boy. “ He commands me to inform you 
that his Highness hath been deposed, and the Cham- 
berlain made Duke in his stead. He gives you five 
minutes to open the gates, and deliver up the Count 
Ornano.” 

“ Five minutes? It is not enough. Speak the 
rogue cunningly; tell him I must consult the Duch- 
ess. The barricade is scarce finished yet; I have 
some pallets coming from the women’s rooms which 
will stay the bullets finely.” 

My young page was soon back again. “ He will 
grant not a minute longer unless you send out 
Ornano. I think the light on St. Gudule hath 
somewhat frightened him. He has told his followers 
’tis to signal their new Duke, but he himself knows 
better.” 

“We have but two minutes left then. Quick, 
over with you, mind how you climb ” — and I helped 
him over the barricade — “ I will go speak them 
from the window.” 

I had scarcely shown myself when — 

“Yield, Strathbourne ! ” shouted Vanharten — I 
could distinguish him plainly, for they had kindled 
a great fire just without. “ Yield you quickly. You 
are not a dozen men, all told; we nearer two hun- 
dred. We have no quarrel against you. Give up 
the Count Ornano, our leader, and you shall leave 
the town unhurt.” 

My answer was short and to the point. 


THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS, 


263 

“ The Count Ornano lies bound hand and foot 
within, waiting to be tried as a traitor. Unless your 
men disperse at once such will be your doom also. 
Saw you not the light on St. Gudule? Troops even 
now are riding fast to my assistance.’’ 

“ ’Tis false, ’tis our own signal,” cried Van- 
harten, loud enough for all to hear. “Your blood 
be upon your own head. To it, men, break the gates 
down and make an end of them ” — and at the same 
moment a bullet whizzed past me so close that I 
felt the wind. There was a woman’s scream behind, 
but it was not from the Duchess or the demoiselle, 
and her Highness rated the maid for a coward an- 
grily. I would have had her retire into the inner 
chambers herself, but she refused. 

“ Nay,” she said, “ I am the daughter and the 
sister of soldiers, the wife too of one who in his 
youth led the field. Carry my lord into safety with- 
in and I shall be grateful; we will watch over him 
by turns. Besides, you will have need of us. Bring 
your wounded here, they shall be well tended.” 

The gates were soon down, and the insurgents 
came in with a rush, more like rabble than dis- 
ciplined soldiers; I did not think Vanharten had 
much authority over them. They made for the 
Duke’s quarters first, and there were cries of dis- 
appointment when they found their prey had es- 
caped them. But they did not lose all. 

The furniture came crashing through the win- 
dows to feed the fire, followed presently by the 
bodies of the revellers cut and hacked beyond recog- 
nition. I saw Vanharten’s hand in this. It was 
good policy. Once having imbued their hands in 


264 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


blood it was impossible for his followers to draw 
back; they must fight it out to the end. 

Yet a few minutes and they surged round until 
they reached the foot of our staircase. They filled 
up the great hall and out on to the terrace beyond, 
and I peered over rather anxiously to see what 
manner of force they had brought against me. The 
faithless garrison led the way, with a goodly num- 
ber of men from the walls; the remainder were the 
new levies Sir Paul had been training so industrious- 
ly. These were the most to be feared ; the remainder 
seemed a horde of rabble a great deal more intent 
upon plunder than fighting. I could see them 
very well, for though I had extinguished nearly 
all light up above, they carried torches and blaz- 
ing brands, and candles from the Duke’s apart- 
ments. 

They were a little taken aback, I fancied, when 
they first perceived my barricade, but Vanharten 
gave them no time to consider. He ordered his 
men forward, they fixed their arms, fired a ringing 
volley; then, under cover of the smoke, rushed for- 
ward to dislodge us. The straw pallets stayed the 
bullets, their fire, was quite harmless, and my men, 
with their matches well alight and a second loaded 
weapon beside each of them, waited calmly until I 
gave the word. I allowed the enemy to come up 
almost within touch of us; then a sheet of flame 
shot forth, and the stairs were strewed with dead and 
dying. A second volley from the spare muskets 
completed their discomfiture; they turned and fled 
leaving their wounded behind them. 

“ Well done, well done! ” cried a soft voice from 


THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS. 


265 


above, and, looking up, I saw the 'Duchess leaning 
over the banister with Mademoiselle de Suresne 
close behind her. Others heard her too, for at once 
a shot was fired from below which struck the wall 
just above the demoiselle’s head. 

“ Our young captain is frightened, Edmee,” said 
the Duchess, laughing, as she shook a little plaster 
from her shoulder, “ is it for you or for me that he 
hangs out that white flag upon his cheeks?” 

For in truth my heart stood still when I saw 
how narrowly the bullet had missed them. The 
demoiselle’s eyes met mine. For a moment there 
was something in her look I could almost have taken 
for love; then, as if ashamed, she hastily turned 
away. But indeed it was not a time to give heed 
to such matters. Taking warning by their first re- 
pulse, our assailants were now making for us again 
with more caution. I implored the Duchess to re- 
tire, and scarcely had she turned her back when they 
were upon us. 

Vanharten fought with more system this time. 
He had held us too cheaply. They fired, then 
dropped on their knees as our volley flashed forth, 
and the bullets went over their heads. Then be- 
fore, as they thought, we had time to reload, they 
dashed forward, and strove to climb the barricade. 
Our reserve weapons once more did us good serv- 
ice. As the foremost fell in a heap, those behind 
wavered, and would have retreated, had not Van- 
harten, waving his sword and shouting lustily, led 
them on again. It was a brave assault, and well de- 
livered — a hard hand-to-hand fight — but we beat 
them off at last. 

18 


266 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


Yet still they were not disheartened. Sir Paul’s 
good training made itself felt, and Vanharten led 
them well. They came on again and again, until 
the stairs were so slippery with blood they fell over 
one another as they ran. 

After the fourth charge it began to look very 
black for us. The barricade was gradually falling. 
It was being pulled down piece by piece, and they 
allowed us no time to repair it. True, there were 
frequent pauses between the attacks, but they had 
some sharp-shooters planted down below. We did 
not dare expose ourselves. Still, we had done very 
well. My brave men fought like lions; it was a 
pity I had not a few more of them. 

The Duchess had plenty to do now; every other 
man was wounded more or less. When the enemy 
retreated they would run in and have their hurts 
bound up; then, on the alarm being given, those 
who could would rush out and take their places 
again. Those killed outright died fighting; their 
bodies helped support the barricade. Truly it was 
one of the most stubborn fights that ever I took 
part in. 

All this had taken time. The short night passed 
away without our knowing. It came upon us as a 
surprise when the rising sun flooded every corner. 
Could I but hold out one short hour longer, the 
promised help must surely arrive. Vanharten knew 
it, too, and gathered his men together to overwhelm 
us with one last blow. The stairs were cleared of 
the dead — we had no ammunition left to fire upon 
them — and, looking over, I saw hammers and axes 
passed from hand to hand. Our frail barricade was 


THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS. 267 

doomed. It was only our steady firing that had 
preserved it so long. 

My resolution was soon taken to leave the land- 
ing altogether, and defend the upper stair. This was 
much narrower. With sword and pike, half-a-dozen 
determined men could hold it for awhile against a 
host. 

I picked out all able to stand. Alas! there were 
not many. The others I sent into the ante-room 
with orders to close and hold the door. Bouquet 
was to command them, and I went within to give 
him some last orders. No one was near. The 
Duchess had gone to her husband. The demoiselle 
was praying beside a dying man, and I spoke in a 
low tone that I might not disturb her. After ex- 
plaining to the Swiss exactly what he was to do, I 
went on: 

“ You will get the women out of the way first. 
Tell the Duchess it is necessary for her lord’s safety; 
then hold the door as long as you can. Remember, 
a little more time is all we need. It is impossible 
for Sir Paul to fail us. We will keep the stairs 
outside, until not a man is left alive. You do your 
part as well, and the dogs will be beaten yet. If 
you could rouse those drugged men — I saw one 
move just now — I should have no fear at all for you. 
You will have plenty of time. They will not over- 
come us in a moment.” 

“ But that means certain death for you, my cap- 
tain,” cried Bouquet. “ Do you take command here, 
and let me go outside? It is partly my fault that 
this has happened. It is but just that I should 
die.” 


268 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


“ So you will one day, my good friend, but not 
this time, I hope. It is your duty now to obey me. 
Commend me to Sir Paul when he returns, and tell 
him my only regret is that I did not live to win my 
spurs;” and I was just turning to go, when a soft 
hand was laid upon my arm. The demoiselle had 
stolen up unperceived, and heard our last words. 

“ Is it true, monsieur, what he says? ” and there 
was a strange look in her dark eyes. “ Is it true 
that you are going to your death?” 

I laughed lightly. “ Bouquet is excited. He 
speaks with exaggeration. I shall not fall the sooner 
for leaving a message for my kinsman.” 

“ They are going to barricade the door and leave 
you outside?” she persisted. 

“ Why not, mademoiselle? It will be no worse 
for me than for the others. I shall not be alone. I 
fight at the head of my men. You would not have 
me a craven ? ” 

“ That you could not be,” she cried quickly. 
“ Yet — yet — I would not have you die.” 

“You take too gloomy a view, mademoiselle; 
and just now you were so brave. It is necessary to 
have the door closed. They will be nearer; bullets 
may be flying about. But ’tis only for a little while. 
The troop Sir Paul promised me is sure to arrive; 
then all will be well. Yet there is one thing I 
should like,” and, dropping my light tone, I spoke 
more earnestly. “ I wish, once for all, to ask your 
forgiveness for my share in that hateful past.” 

“ I have nothing to forgive,” she exclaimed pas- 
sionately. “ It is you — you. They called you a 
horse-boy, but no well-born gentleman ever treated 


THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS. 269 

me with greater respect. When I hated you most 
I still remembered your noble courtesy.” 

“ Mademoiselle, your kind words embolden me. 
Now that you have forgiven me, now that we may 
never meet again, I may, perhaps, say without of- 
fence what else my lips had never uttered. Made- 
moiselle de Suresne, I have dared to love you, I 
have loved you always.” And giving her no time 
to reply I raised her hand to my lips and was gone. 
Almost I thought I heard a soft cry of “ Jean, 
Jean! ” but I was half across the threshold. I would 
not turn, and next moment Bouquet closed and 
fastened the door behind me. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


LORENZO OF MILAN. 

Had I expected ever to look the demoiselle in 
the face again those last words would not have been 
spoken. As it was, I felt glad; she knew now that 
I loved her; knew that she was all the world to me. 
The thought gave me fresh strength, made me feel 
as if I could defy an army, and, joining my little 
band, I cried : “ Courage, my friends,” and I pointed 
to the bright sun. “ Courage, see it is day already, 
help is sure to be here soon. We have Sir Paul’s 
words for it, and you know he never failed us yet.” 

“ Not he! ” was the answering cry, “ and when 
he comes he shall not call us cowards.” And as 
our foes made their great rush they were met by 
cries of “ Caryl, Caryl! St. George for England, 
and have at ’em.” 

There followed a wild din, a frantic clash of 
steel, a fierce struggle hand to hand. I was beaten 
down to one knee, almost I thought all was over, 
when one of the brave fellows precipitated himself 
upon my assailant, and, clutching at his throat, they 
rolled down the stairs together. The momentum 
of their fall overthrew others, and, seized with a 
sudden panic, the enemy took to their heels and 
270 


LORENZO OF MILAN 


271 

fled. Once again we had a few moments to 
breathe. 

Not for long this time, however; they saw our • 
scanty numbers, and were too enraged by such an 
ignominious repulse to need much rallying. They 
knew well we could not hold out against them, that 
their hard-bought victory was close at hand. Still, 
we had gained a few precious minutes, and to us 
every moment was of value. 

I scarcely know how to describe that last melee. 
We had the advantage of position. Standing on the 
top steps we could smite downwards, and our long 
swords did mighty execution. I was fighting bare- 
headed, blood streaming from a wound in my tem- 
ple, where the helmet had been cloven from my 
brow, nor were any of my comrades much better. 
They drove us back step by step, trampling on the 
wounded as they fell. Once a man lost his footing 
he was not able to rise again, the fight surged back- 
wards and forwards so furiously. 

It was nearly at an end. There were only four of 
us left, driven back to the last stair near the door, 
when there arose loud cries from below. I gave 
little heed; I had just closed with that arch traitor, 
Vanharten — the first time I had been able to get 
at him. Then came a trampling of horses in the 
court-yard, a sharp rattle as of men dismounting in 
haste, a discharge of musketry, and our peril was 
at an end. Vanharten and his followers turned and 
fled. I was too exhausted to follow, but before 
they reached the foot of the staircase they were 
cut down. The door opened behind me. Bouquet 
and one or two of those who had been drugged 


272 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


rushed forth; save those who had taken to flight 
on the first alarm not a man of our foes escaped. 

I saw Bertelin and his men all striking about 
them from right to left, and with them also were 
some strange troopers, in whose service I could 
not distinguish. Then suddenly, from amid the 
confusion, there emerged a tall knight clad in bright 
steel from head to foot. His visor was raised, dis- 
closing the features of a handsome man of middle 
age; a face I had never seen before. I wondered 
dimly who it was and how he came to be there, 
but I felt too faint to trouble much. I was hurt 
more than I knew. At times the noise and shout- 
ing sounded far away, the whole scene seemed to 
swim before me; then with an effort I thrust the 
weakness back. For a while I was myself again. 

The knight ran lightly up the stair, spurning 
aside the dead as they came in his way, and presently 
was clasped in the arms of the Duchess. She em- 
braced him on each cheek with a little cry of tri- 
umph: 

“ At last, at last, Lorenzo ! I began to think, my 
brother, you had forgotten me.” 

“ Nay, I knew not you were in peril. I was 
given to understand you had a foreign guard who 
might be depended upon. And I was not wrong it 
appears,” as he looked round. “ By St. Anthony, 
they bore themselves bravely. You led them, young 
sir?” turning to me where I stood, supporting 
myself against the wall. “ You have done your 
devoir right well; his Lorenzo of Milan who tells 
you so.” 

I flushed with pleasure at his praise. Lorenzo of 


LORENZO OF MILAN. 


273 

Milan was one of the most renowned knights in all 
Italy. 

“ Come,” the knight went on, “ we will to my 
lady’s chamber till the carrion be cleared away. 
Tis an ugly sight, and no place for fair ladies,” and 
he offered his hand to the Duchess. 

“ One moment, my brother,” she cried quickly. 

I have a boon to beg of you before you stir one 
step. This young captain of mine — this captain of 
my guard who has defended me so well, he is but 
a squire — has he not earned his knighthood? What 
place more fitting than this blood-stained stair, what 
hand more worthy than yours to confer it?” 

“ Faith, madame, you speak well; the young spark 
hath won his spurs fairly. Your name, young sir? 
You are of noble birth? Then kneel, and in the 
name of Heaven, our Lady and St. Anthony, I dub 
thee knight,” and he struck me three times with his 
sword. “ Rise up. Sir John of Strathbourne. I 
hope one day we may fight side by side.” 

The Duchess, with many a kind word, held out 
her hand for me to kiss; Mademoiselle de Suresne, 
who, as usual, was close behind her, did the same. 
But the demoiselle extended her left hand, and, as 
I raised it to my lips, I saw it was bare of all rings 
save one, and that one was my own. She wore my 
father’s ring, the ring I had placed upon her finger 
before the priest in the brigands’ chapel. What this 
might portend I could not tell, and I dared not 
raise my eyes. I felt ashamed before her now that 
she knew my secret. But Sir Lorenzo led the way 
briskly into the ante-room, saying as he went: 

Bind up your head and come this way. Sir of 


274 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


Strathbourne, if you will; my time is short, and I 
must settle this matter ere I go. I must be on my 
way again before noon. Nay, start not, my sister, 
you are safe enough now. I can leave a sufficient 
guard; your young knight will answer for the rest. 
I have joined the Bande Neroni, and we were on 
our way to reinforce Lautrec when we fell in with 
Bertelin here, riding in hot haste. When I learnt 
his errand, I turned and rode with him. But I must 
be with my troop again within twenty-four hours, 
or I may be too late to lead them into battle.” 

I would willingly have been excused; I could 
scarce stand upright, yet a false pride forbade me 
to say how sorely I was hurt. My wounded head 
accounted for my pale face and blood-stained con- 
dition; no one suspected aught else. A good 
draught of wine restored me somewhat, however, 
and I followed with the rest. 

The knight’s proceedings did not take very long. 
As soon as he heard how Ornano had been cap- 
tured, he comprehended all without difficulty, tie 
had the prisoner unbound and brought before him. 
I was called upon to state what I knew, and Bou- 
quet swore it was the Count who gave him the 
drugged wine. When Sir Lorenzo heard there were 
some bottles remaining below, he had one brought 
up, and pouring a little into the hollow of his hand 
put his lips to it. 

“Pah!” he cried, spitting it out with an ex- 
clamation of disgust. “ ’Tis easy to see your knaves 
were English. The Duke was not poisoned with 
this, I trow. The treason is clear; proved without 
manner of doubt. Have you aught to say. Count 


'LORENZO OF MILAN. 


275 

Ornano, before I pronounce sentence against 
you?” 

“ I claim a fair trial before the Duke. You have 
no jurisdiction over me.” 

“ I am sitting on behalf of the Duke, and would 
fain save his Highness trouble. As for a fair trial, 
it is much fairer than you would have given your 
master. Why, man, if such treachery as yours were 
to go unpunished no king would be safe on his 
throne. By the way, hath the prisoner been searched? 
Hath he any documents about him? ” 

The Count at first resisted furiously, then, find- 
ing he was only subjected to greater indignities, 
resigned himself to the inevitable with a curse. He 
had reason for his resistance. From amongst the 
inner folds of his doublet they at length drew forth 
a sheet of paper closely covered with writing. The 
knight pounced upon it directly. 

“A proclamation as I live! ” he cried, when he 
had looked over the first few lines. “ Why, here 
we have it all in a nutshell. Announcement of the 
late Duke’s death — ’twas murder you meant, then, 
not imprisonment — accession of Duke Honatrin — 
not yet, I think, by your leave — and here on the 
other side a list of the principal ringleaders to be 
rewarded. Per Bacco, this ought to open the 
Duke’s eyes. He will know his true friends at last! 
Take the prisoner below, allow him five minutes 
with a priest, then shoot him in the open square. 
Let his body be thrown afterwards into the town 
ditch, that these rebellious knaves may see the end 
of traitors.” 

“ You dare not! ” cried the Count excitedly. I 


276 JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 

appeal to the King of France. The Marquis of Su- 
resne is dead, my father is now a French vassal.” 

“ You mistake, monsieur,” I interposed, though 
I had some ado to speak, and my voice sounded 
faint and weak. “ The Marquis is alive and well, 
and safely on his way to the frontier, as mademoi- 
selle his sister can testify. It is Vivares — ^Vivares 

who ” Then came a noise as if all the waters 

on the seashore were surging about my head, and 
the figures around grew dim and indistinct. I must 
have fallen, I think, for the last I understood was a 
loud cry from the knight. Ho, there, see to your 
captain; why did the fool not say he was wounded? ” 
And all became a blank. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


MY HUSBAND.” 

I WAS ill for some weeks, knowing nothing of 
what was going on, and when I came to myself all 
was changed. The ringleaders in the late rebellion 
had been executed, the Chamberlain had fled to the 
Imperialists, Ispari was quiet again; and Sir Paul 
was only awaiting my recovery to return to Calais. 
He told me the news bit by bit, as he sat every 
day by my bedside. “ Our work here is done, Jean,” 
he said. “ They have a strong garrison, and a faith- 
ful man to command it; our services are no longer 
needed. The very business we set out to accom- 
plish has been achieved without us. His Holiness 
the Pope hath escaped from those accursed brig- 
ands, and is safe at Orvieto. Lautrec is marching 
now to besiege Naples. I doubt it will be a long 
and tedious task. Though I would have served him 
faithfully had he allowed me, ’tis well for us we are 
out of it.” 

How well we hardly realised until later, when 
we heard that the Marshal himself and three-fourths 
of his army had fallen victims to the pestilence. 

“ As for you, Jean,” Sir Paul continued, “ you 
have nothing to complain of, I vow. You have 
277 


278 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


had a bad bout, it is true, but ’tis worth it — you 
have won your spurs gloriously.” 

I was longing to hear somewhat of the demoi- 
selle, but not daring to ask, questioned him of the 
Duchess instead. 

‘‘ The Duchess? Ah, you are in high favour 
there, Jean, and if you choose to remain in Ispari 
she hath honours in store for you. Even that high 
and mighty damsel. Mademoiselle de Suresne, con- 
descended to be grateful for your services to her 
brother. She delayed her departure for three whole 
days because she would not leave until you were out 
of danger.” 

“Departure? — she has gone whither?” I cried, 
trying to raise myself. 

“ Gently, gently, Jean! One would almost think 
you were interested in the lady. She has gone to 
France; the King sent for her. Thanks to you, 
the young Marquis reached the French court safe 
and sound, and I suppose the tidings he brought 
made King Francis demand her presence. The lady 
is a French subject, you know; the King will bestow 
her in marriage upon one of his nobles. She made 
me promise to seek her out when I returned to 
France, and I am to take you with me.” 

The demoiselle had forgiven my presumption, 
then; that was much, but I did not know that I 
cared to see her again. Since I had learned to 
love her too well for my own peace, I tried to per- 
suade myself it were best we should not meet. 

There is no need to say much concerning the 
remainder of my stay in Ispari, save to mention 
that the Duchess presented me with a costly neck- 


MV husband: 


279 


lace out of the jewels I had saved from the Con- 
tessa. She would fain have had me stay at her 
court, where she promised me great honour, but, 
when she found my mind was set on going, she gave 
me the necklace instead. 

“ ’Twill serve for your wife when you have one,’’ 
she said graciously, “ a queen has worn it ere now. 
Or you may sell it to forward your advancement; 
’tis your own to deal with as you will. Sure am I 
that you have earned it.” 

“ It will buy him a fair manor in England,” cried 
Sir Paul, taking the words out of my mouth. 
“ Thanks to your Highness, our Jean will be no 
landless knight.” 

I was carried in a litter during the first part of 
the journey, being too weak to sit my horse, but 
by the time we had crossed the mountains, I was 
able to ride some hours every day. Here Sir Paul 
left me to follow by slow stages with the troop; 
whilst he, taking only a couple of servants, rode 
post haste to deliver his report to the King. 

He had been gone some days, and we were yet 
almost a week’s journey from Paris, where the 
court was then abiding, when at the little town of 
Specs, where we had halted for our mid-day meal, 
there arrived a messenger from Sir Paul with a 
letter. The man had a sorry tale to tell. He had 
been directed to ride with all haste, but on the way 
had fallen in with thieves who had taken from him 
his horse and all his money — scarcely, he swore, 
had he got off with life. Fortunately, the letter 
escaped them, and he had continued his journey 
as soon as he* could. It was the knave’s own fault ; 


28 o JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 

he had been bidden take a companion, but thought 
instead to pocket the money for two, and when I 
read the letter I drove him from my presence lest 
I should kill him where he stood. Thus it ran: 

“ My Young Cousin: When you see this, haste 
hither to Paris with all speed. A certain lady hath 
need of you. She has told me a story, ’tis incredible, 
though well I see ’tis true, yet wishes she not the 
tale known to all. She is in a sore strait, the King 
commanding her to wed. He gives a fete at the 
palace on the evening of Wednesday, the last day of 
this month, and for part of the diversions made- 
moiselle is to select a husband. There are many 
suitors, for besides being a fair lady she hath a noble 
dowry, and the King ordains that she should choose 
from among them before the court. ’Tis a strange 
fancy, but what would you; the King’s Highness, 
you know, is ever seeking fresh amusement. It is 
the lady’s own wish that I should let you know; 
methinks if you are present she will choose with- 
out trouble. So haste you hither now, quick as 
thy hurts will allow thee. My Lord of St. Edmunds 
is expected daily; he will stand your friend with 
the King. — Your loving kinsman, 

“ Paul Caryl. 

“ At my lodgings in Paris this Tuesday morn- 
ing, by a sure hand to be delivered with all speed.” 

The fete was to be on the evening of Wednes- 
day; this was mid-day on Tuesday, and I was four 
days’ good journey from Paris. Almost I felt as if 
I were going mad. To have happiness such as I 


MV husband: 


281 


had never dreamed of almost within my touch, only 
to lose it through the sordidness of a thieving rascal ! 

There was but one thing in my favour: the road 
to Paris was well travelled. As there was a con- 
tinual traffic between the court and the army in 
Italy, there would be no difficulty in obtaining con- 
stant relays of fresh horses. If I could ride without 
stopping day or night, I might arrive in time even 
yet. I took no one with me, such travelling as I 
meant to do was only possible for one; I merely 
ordered the escort to follow quickly as they could, 
then galloped off alone on the first stage oh my long 
journey. Amid all the tumult that possessed me, 
of one thing only I felt certain — I would reach Paris 
in time or die. 

Of much of that wild ride I can recall little. 
There is only a confused sense of trees and hedges 
rushing by, of clattering through streets where all 
hurried out of the way to clear a road for me, then 
on through the dark, still night, whilst the stars 
seemed to mock at my slow progress. Twice my 
horse fell dead as I dismounted. But my pouch 
was well filled. I scattered gold lavishly. I never 
had to wait. 

Once, in the darkness, I encountered a gang of 
footpads, who, drawing up in a row across the road, 
tried to stay me. My horse was fresh. I rode on 
and over them, scattering them out of my path like 
chaff. A few bullets came whistling after, but I 
was almost out of range; they dropped short harm- 
lessly. 

As the hours passed on my worst trouble was my 
hardly-healed wound. My side burnt like fire. I 
^9 


282 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


had much ado at times to draw breath; but I only 
bound my sash tighter and tighter, and strove to 
ease myself by leaning forwards. Yet did I never 
slacken my speed; never once did I draw rein. I 
stayed for nothing, until I reached the next post- 
ing-house. Every time I dismounted I swallowed a 
small cup of wine, and I ate a crust of bread, now 
and again, as I went along. Not that I wanted it, 
or felt the least hunger, but I would leave nothing 
undone to keep up my strength. 

All went well until late in the afternoon of that 
fateful Wednesday, when I was within measurable 
distance of Paris. It was growing dusk, and I had 
still many weary leagues to ride. But my hopes 
were high; I should do it yet. The fHe would not 
take place until after supper. If I arrived before 
eight of the clock I should surely be in time. I 
was spent and weary. My full strength had not 
come back to me; yet I could still keep my seat, 
and, whilst I could sit, I could ride. And then, 
suddenly my hopes were overthrown. I was draw- 
ing near the next posting-house, my poor horse was 
well-nigh done, and all at once it fell dead lame. I 
used whip and spur, but all to no purpose; I could 
scarce get the brute beyond a walk. Had I been 
able, I should have jumped down to run by its side, 
but I had not strength enough for that. I dared 
not even dismount. The road was lonely. Still, I 
knew a village was near; the delay would not be 
so long after all. Yet it chafed me greatly. I had 
a presentiment it was but the beginning of ill-for- 
tune. And very speedily indeed did my fears seem 
to be realised. 


MV husband: 


283 


I had not gone many yards farther, my horse 
limping painfully, when there was a stealthy rustling 
in the bushes that lined the road, and some half-a- 
dozen evil-looking ruffians leaped out upon me. 

“ Yield you, sir knight, or you are a dead man,” 
cried one, and in a trice I was dragged from my 
horse. I made no resistance ; a feeling of utter help- 
lessness suddenly overpowered me. All was at an 
end. What mattered it? I was not even surprised 
when, presently, amongst them I recognised the 
brigand, Gottlieb. 

“ You here, Gottlieb? That is well,” I said 
faintly. “ Now we only want the captain.” 

He thrust his noseless face into mine. “ Why, 
as I live, ’tis Jean the horse-boy. Hands off, com- 
rades, ’tis a friend. So you escaped skin-whole 
after all, Jean? We thought you had been dashed 
to pieces. Art in fine fettle, too,” and he passed his 
hands over my clothes. ‘‘ Jean, thou hast been 
robbing thy master.” 

“Is the captain with you?” I asked. Perhaps 
if the wretch thought I meant to claim my bride he 
might help me. 

“ I am captain here. The Baron swung on a 
gibbet months ago. We fell on hard times after 
you disappeared. The captain was so sore at miss- 
ing the girl, he lost his cunning. We were caught 
in a trap ; there was an end of the Thousand Devils. 
A few of us got away, and have taken to the road, 
as you see, but ’tis a poor living, Jean,” and he 
glanced at my pouch covetously. 

“You are on foot?” I looked around; I could 
see no sign of any horses; 


284 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


“ Some of us. We have a beast or two in the 
thicket. At need they carry double. You seem to 
have done better.” 

“Ay, I have found friends; yet I am riding 
for my life. I have gold left still. I will give 
you all I possess for a horse that will carry me to 
Paris.” 

“ And what is to prevent us taking it? ” he said 
coolly. “We were not sworn comrades. You never 
entered the band.” 

“ There is nothing to prevent you. I am past 
resisting. All strength has gone out of me.” And, 
truly, I had to lean against my horse in order to 
keep upright. Had I taken one step I should have 
fallen. “ I am in your power, as you see, yet I 
think you would find it pay better to help me.” 

“ If it will pay better, that is another thing. Go 
on; we are listening.” 

I turned out my pouch. There were still many 
gold pieces left, at which the worthy Gottlieb opened 
his eyes wider than ever, exclaiming, as he tested 
one between his teeth: 

“ Faith, but your pockets are well lined, Jean the 
horse-boy.” 

“ Tis but a few as earnest money. Give me a 
horse that will carry me to Paris before eight of the 
clock this night, and fifty more shall be paid you 
when and where you will. I have friends, as I said. 
I swear I will not fail you.” 

“ Fifty gold crowns! Why, ’tis a fortune! ” 

“ ’Tis yours if you have the horse — it must be a 
good one mind,” for now I had given up my money 
I could obtain no more relays. 


“J/F HU SB AN Dr 28$ 

He looked at me doubtfully. “ You have ridden 
far already?” 

“ I started from Specs yesterday at mid-day.” 

There was a murmur of surprise, and they gath- 
ered about me curiously, some eager for me to have 
the horse, some crying out that my words were lies. 
Then Gottlieb’s voice rose above the rest: “You 
say you left Specs yesterday at mid-day — you would 
come out by the North gate; what saw you as you 
passed by? ” 

“ They were hanging three men and a woman, 
and one man was noseless like to you.” I answered 
quickly, for such, indeed, had been the case, though 
at the time I scarce noticed it. Now it all came be- 
fore me in a flash, and I remembered the mutilated 
man. 

“ His tale is true, comrades, he must have seen 
it or he could not have known, and ’twas the hour 
and the day our friends were to suffer. Jean, you 
shall have the horse, and may good luck attend you. 
As for the fifty crowns, tell me where you are to 
be found, and I will come for them myself; ’tis too 
large a sum to trust to others. Tis a good beast 
I am going to give you, one that we can ill spare. 
We stole him not a month agone, yet already hath 
he saved me from the fate of those at Specs. The 
watch pressed me sore, it was a stern chase and a 
hard, yet they never came within range of me.” 

The horse was brought forth, a good beast I 
could see even in that dim light, and they lifted me 
to my seat. I had no power to mount of myself, 
but once up I was all right. 

“ Go your ways,” cried Gottlieb. “ Ride softly 


286 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE, 


until he grows warm, and I warrant he will carry 
you to Paris without stopping. I will come for 

those crowns within ” 

I heard no more; I shook the reins and was off. 
Soon I had left Gottlieb and his fellows far behind 
me. 


There was high revelry in the old Palais de 
Tournelles; when I rode into the courtyard the win- 
dows were lit up from top to bottom. An embassy 
from England had arrived that morning, and, after 
receiving the ambassadors in state. King Francis 
had bidden them to his banquet and the fHe that 
was to follow after. 

Since leaving Gottlieb, until I arrived in the 
palace courtyard, I had not once drawn rein, and 
my spurs were dripping with blood. As I pulled 
up now, the poor horse, which had carried me so 
well, swayed to one side, then fell heavily; and, too 
stiff to move a limb, I fell with it. The wondering 
attendants, thinking surely I was the bearer of great 
news, lifted me up with all speed, and, soon as I 
could frame my parched lips to speech, I demanded 
Sir Paul Caryl. My voice was so husky it startled 
even myself; I thought at first it was someone else 
speaking. 

In as short a time as even I could have wished. 
Sir Paul was by my side looking at me in consterna- 
tion. 

“ Am I too late? ” I cried, catching at his arm. 
“Your letter only reached me at Specs yesterday 
noon, I have ridden without stopping since.” 

“ You have ridden from Specs since noon yes- 


Afv husband: 


287 


terday? You, fresh from a sick-bed? Come, that 
ought at least to excuse your dress, I will take it 
upon myself. Courage, Jean! You are not too 
late, though but ten minutes more and I could not 
have said so. My Lord Abbot of St. Edmunds is 
here; he arrived this morning. All now will go 
well. Canst walk? Take my arm, so; that is better. 
It is difficult climbing the stairs, I know. Lean on 
me more heavily, I will let you go when we are 
within. Now rest here ” — guiding me to a bench in 
the ante-room — “ whilst I go and obtain permission 
from the King.” 

The door was partly open. From where I sat I 
could see into the great chamber of the Palais de 
Tournelles. It was hung with blue hangings cov- 
ered with fleur-de-lys, the same device being re- 
peated on the floor in blue tiles. The King, clad 
in white velvet covered with precious stones, sat at 
the far end in a chair raised four steps above the 
ground, under a canopy of cloth of gold; and all 
about him were fair ladies and noble cavaliers in 
brave attire and glittering jewels. There was a 
sound of music, and soft voices, and merry laugh- 
ter; then came a sudden silence — Sir Paul was 
speaking to ICing Francis. This was broken pres- 
ently by the King’s bluff voice. 

“ A young knight hardly yet recovered from his 
wounds, who hath ridden from Specs since yester- 
day to be present at this fHe? Foi de gentilhommey 
that is something like a ride! Dress or no dress, 
admit him instantly. But let him not spoil sport; 
keep him in the background until we have finished 
with Mademoiselle de Suresne; afterwards you may 


288 


JOHN OF STRATHBOURNE. 


present him if you will. The lady is coy. She is 
hard to please. Yet will I have no longer delay.” 

Sir Paul came out to fetch me, and we entered 
together. Every eye at this end of the room was 
turned upon me in amaze, and those who stood in 
my way hasted to draw aside as I came near. As I 
passed before a long mirror I saw the reason. I 
stood amidst that gaily-dressed throng clad in my 
rough riding suit and covered with dust and mud 
from head to foot. Nor was this all. My hair was 
glued to my brow with sweat, my face was livid, 
my eyes bloodshot and sta'ring. I shuddered as I 
gazed. It is the brigand over again, I thought ; she 
will turn from me with disgust and shame. Yet 
could I not help myself one whit, so I held me erect 
as I could, and, looking neither to right nor to left, 
followed close behind Sir Paul. He led me almost 
to the top of the room; then, halting outside a half 
circle of young cavaliers, softly touched my arm. I 
looked up and beheld Mademoiselle de Suresne. 
She was standing with downcast eyes beside the 
King, who was saying something to her I could not 
hear. 

There were many other ladies around ; the 
Queen-mother, Louise of Savoy, with her usual 
bevy of beautiful attendants ; the King’s sister. Mar- 
guerite of Valois; the reigning favourite, the Duch- 
esse d’Etampes; and all were laughing and whisper- 
ing as if some very good jest were being played. 
Then the demoiselle answered the King, and her 
dear familiar voice thrilled me through: 

“ Since your Highness wills it so, I must needs 
obey, though, indeed, it is a great honour these 


MY husband:' 


289 


gentlemen are doing me,” and she made a courtesy 
towards those in the semicircle that would have 
graced a queen. “Yet, I can choose but one; the 
others — they will not think I mean any affront.” 

“ Nay, nay, that is understood,” interrupted 
Francis impatiently. “ ’Tis a recognised condition; 
all have promised to abide by your choice. Come, 
now, I will take you myself,” and, rising, he pre- 
sented his hand to lead her round. 

The court party were so taken up with what was 
passing that they had not noticed my intrusion, 
and now Sir Paul pushed me a little forward until 
I stood on the edge of the circle. The demoiselle 
looked up — our eyes met. I forgot my rough dress, 
my travel-stained condition ; forgot everything, save 
that I loved her. Her gaze lasted but for one mo- 
ment, then quitting the King’s side she came toward 
me with outstretched hands and quivering lips: 

“ Your Highness, I make my choice here. Mon- 
sieur — Jean — my husband! ” 


THE END. 




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